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MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBEAEY.-POOKET EDITION. 


19». PRICE. 

1 Yoiande. By William Black 20 

2 Molly Bawn, By ‘‘The Duchess” 20 

3 The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 20 

4 Under Two Flags. By“Ouicla” 20 

5 Admiral’s Ward. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

6 Portia. 63'- “ The Duchess” 20 

7 File No. 113. By Emile Gaboriau 20 

8 East Lyune. By Mrs. Henry Wood. ... 20 

9 Wanda. By ” Ouida ” 20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By Dicicens. 20 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. MissMulock 20 
22 Other People’s Money. By Gaboriau. 20 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Heleu B. Mathers 10 

14 Airy Faiiy IJlian. By “The Duchess ” 10 

15 Jane Eyre By Charlotte Bront6 20 


16 Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ” 20 

17 The Wooing O’t By Mrs. Alexander.. 15 

18 Shandon Bells. By William Black 20 

19 Her Mother’s Sin. By the Author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

20 Within au Inch of His Life. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

21 Sunrise. By William Black : 20 


22 David Copperfield. Dickens. Vol. I . 20 

22 David Copperfieid. Dickens Vol. II. 20 

23 A Princess of Thule. By William Black 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. I .. 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens Vol II.. 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. By ” The Duchess ”... 20 

26 3Ionsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. I. 20 

26 3Ionsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. II. 20 

27 Vanity Fair. By William M Thackeray 20 


28 Ivauhoe. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

29 Beauty’s Dauglit.ers ” The Duchess ” 10 

30 Faith and UnfaiLh. By “The Duchess” 20 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot 20 

32 The Land Leaguers. Anthony Trollope 20 

33 The Clique of Gold. By Emile Gaboriau 10 

34 Daniel Deronda. By' George Eliot ... 30 

35 Lady Audle3^’s Secret. Miss Braddou 20 

36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot .... 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens 30 

38 Tlie Widow Leroage. By Gaboriau.. 20 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 20 

40 The Last Da3^s of Pompeii. By Sir E. 

Bulwcr Ly tton 20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens .... 15 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 


43 The M3'Stery of Orcival. Gaboriau.... 20 

44 Macleod of Dare. By William Black. . 20 

45 A Little Pilgrim. By Mrs. Oliphant. . . 10 

46 Very Hard Cash. B’3" Charles Reade.. 20 

47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oliphant. . 20 

48 Thicker Than Water. By James Pa3m. 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By Black... 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a Pliaeton. 


By V^illiam Black 20 

51 Dora Thorne. By the Author of “ Her 

Mother’s Sin ” 20 

52 The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins. 10 

53 The Story of Ida. By Francesca 10 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring. By the Au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

55 The Three Guardsmen. By Dumas. ... 20 

56 Phantom Fortune. Miss Braddon.... 20 

57 Shirley. By Charlotte BrontS 20 


NO. PRICE. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. D. C- Murray 10 5 

59 Vice Vers&. By F. Anstes' 20 

60 The Last of the Mohicans. Cooper.. 20 i 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 10 \. 

62 'The Executor. By Mrs. Alexander. . 20 

63 The Spy. By J. Fenimoi'e Cooper. . . 20 

64 A Maiden Fair. B3- Charles Gibbon. . 10 f 

65 Back to the Old Home. By M. C. Hay 10 ! 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young Man. 


By Octave Feuillet . . 10 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore . 30 

68 A Queen Amongst Women. By the 

Author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

69 Mad ol in’s Lover. By the Author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

70 White Wings. By William Black .. 10 

71 A Struggle for Fame Mrs Riddell.. 20 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. B3’M. C Hay 20 : 

73 Redeemed by Love. By the Author of 1 

“ Dora Thorne ” . 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. ByMissM E Braddon 20 ; 

75 Twenty Years After By Dumas. 20 

76 Wife in Name Only. By the Author of 

“Dora Thorne” — . . 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities By Dicicens . 15 

78 Madcap Violet By William Black . 20 

79 Wedded and Parted. By the Author 

of “ Dora Thorne 10 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester ... 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth By Wm Black. 20, 

82 Sealed Lips. By F Du Boisgobey. . 20 ' 

83 A Strange Stoi\v. Bulwer Lytton . 20 

84 Hard Times. ByChailes Dickens . 10 , 

85 A Sea Queen. By W Clark Russell 20 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Brotjghton . . 20 


87 Dick Sand ; or, A Captain at Fifteen. 

Bt' Jules Verne. C. 

88 The Eiivateersman. Captain Mariwat 2 

89 /I'lie Red Eric. By R. M Ballant3'ue 1 ,■ 

90 Ernest Maltravers Bulwer L3 tton . . 26 J 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles Dickens 20 ’ 

92 Lord I wuue’s Choice. By the Author t* 

of “ Dora Thorne ” . .. ... 10 r 

93 Anthony Trollope s Autobiography . 20 | 

94 IJttle Dorrit. IsL and 2d half each ^ { 

95 The Fire Brigade. R. M Ballant3me 10 

96 Erliug the Bold. By R. M. Ballant3me 10 

97 All in a Garden Fair. Walter Besant . 20 

98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade 15 

99 Barbara's History. A. B. Edwards. . 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the S(,as By 

Jules Verne . .. 20 

101 Second Thoughts. Rhoda Broughton 20 

102 The Moonstone By Wilkie Collins 15 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell ... 10 

104 The Coral Pin. By F Du Boisgobey . 30 

105 A Noble Wife By John Saunders. .. . 2i 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. . . 41 

107 Dombey and Son Charles Dickens. . 40 

108 The Cricket o the Hearth, and Doctor 

Marigold. B3" Charles Dickens 10 1 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 20-1 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss Braddou 10 I 

111 The Little School-Master Mark. By « 

J. H. Shorthouse 10 n 

112 The Waters of Marah. By John Hill 2G , 


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113 Mrs. Carr's Companion. By M. 

G. Wiglitwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. 

C. J. Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

116 Moths. By“Ouida” 20 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 

By W. H. G. Kingston 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford. and Eric 

Dering. By “ The Duchess ” . 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “ The Duchess ” 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby. By Thomas Hughes 23 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin Mc- 

Carthy 20 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

123 Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

Three Feathers. By William 
Black 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 

By William Black 20 

126 Kilmeny. By William Black. . . 20 

127 Adrian "^Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

By “ Ouida ” 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duch- 

ess ” 10 

130 The Last of the Barons. By 

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 40 

131 Our Mutual B riend. By Charles 

Dickens. 1st and 2d half, each 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

133 Peter the Whaler. By W. H. G. 

Kingston 10 

134 The Witching Hour. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

135 A Great Heiress. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 10 

1.36 “That Last Rehearsal.” By 
“ The Duchess ” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By William Black 20 


139 The Romantic Adventures of a 

Milkmaid. By Thomas Hardy 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune. By Walter 

Besant 10 

141 She Loved Him 1 By Annie 


Thomas.., < 10 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas — 20 

143 One False, Both Fair. J. B. 

Harwood 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By 

Emile Gaboriau 10 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man. By Robert Buchanan . . 20 

146 Love Finds the Wa5% By Walter 

Besant and James Rice 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 

lope 20 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By the author of “ Dora 
Tiiorne” 10 


NO. PRICE. 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

tlie Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. AV. 

Speight 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. By C. 

Blatherwick 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

153 The Golden Calf. By MissM. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Bu- 

chanan 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

156 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

157 lililly’s Hero. By F. W. Robin- 

son 20 

158 The Starling. By Norman Mac- 

leod, D.D 10 

159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories. By Florence 
Marryat 10 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 
Lord Lytton 10 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Ijvtton 20 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Dar- 

rell 20 

164 Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 

By William Makepeace.Thack- 
eray 20 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By 

“The Duchess” 10 

167 Heart and Science. By AVilkie 

Collins 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Charles 

Dickens and AVilkie Collins. . . 10 

169 The Haunted Man. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

170 A Great Treason. By Mary 

Hoppus 30 

171 Fortune’s AVheel, and Other 

Stories. By “The Duchess” 10 

172 “ Golden Girls.” B3' Alan Muir 20 

173 The Foreigners. Bj'^ Eleanor C. 

Price 20 


174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge.. 20 

175 Love’s Random Sl)Ot, and Otlier 

Stories. By AAHlkie Collins. . . 19 

176 An April Day. By Philippa P. 

Jephson 10 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs.Oliphant 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Life in the Highlands. By 
Queen Victoria 10 

179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 10 

180 Round the Galley Fire. By AAL 

Clark Russell 10 

181 The New Abelard. By Robert 

Buchanan 10 

182 The Millionaire. A Novel 20 


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183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 

ries. By Florence Marryat... 10 

184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris. 20 
186 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

186 The Canon’s Ward. By James 

Payn 20 

187 The Midnight Sun. ByFredrika 

Bremer 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 5 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 15 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 10 

193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far !” By 

Alison 10 

195 “ The Way of the AVorld.” By 

David Christie Murray 15 

196 Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

199 The Fisher Village. By Anne 

Beale 10 

200 An Old Man's Love. By An- 

thony Trollope 10 

201 The ]\Ionaster3^ By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

202 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 15 
5205 The Minister’s Wife. Bj’ Mrs. 

Oliphant 30 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades. By Charles Reade . . 10 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Croker 15 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 

rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 

211 The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

212 Charles 0'Malle3% the Irish Dra- 

goon. By Chas. Lever (Com- 
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213 A Terrible Temptation. Chas. 

Reade 15 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 

Charles Reade 20 

215 Not Lilce Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 15 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 15 

217 "I’lie IMan She Cared For. By 

F. W. Robinson 15 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 15 

219 Lady Clare ; or, The Master of 

the Forges. By Georges Oh net 10 


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221 

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223 

224 

225 

226 

227 

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229 

230 

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233 

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235 

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238 

239 

240 

241 

242 

243 

243 

244 

245 

246 

247 

248 

249 

250 


251 


252 

253 

254 


255 

256 




PRICE, 

Which Loved Him Best? By 
the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 
Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By 

Helen B. Mathers 15 

The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant 15 
A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By W. 

Clark Russell 15 

The Arundel Motto. Mary Cecil 

Ha.v 15 

Tlie Giant’s Robe. ByF. Anstej’- 15 

Friendship. B3’ “ Ouida ” 20 

Nancj". By Rhoda Broughton. 15 
Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 

da” 20 

Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besaut 15 

Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reade 15 
Love and Mone^’ ; or, A Perilous 
Secret. By Charles Reade. . . lO 
“ 1 Say No or, the Love-Letter 
Answered. Wilkie Collins. ... 15 
Barbara; or. Splendid Miserj^ 

Miss M. E. Braddon 15 

“ It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” By Charles Reade... 20 
Which Shall It Be? Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

Repented at Leisure. By the 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 15 

Pascarel. By‘‘Ouida” 20 

Signa. By “Ouida” ^ 

Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 
The Baby’s Grandmother. By 

L. B. Walford 10 

The Two Orphans. Bj'D’Ennery 10 
Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

lialf. By Charles Lever 20 

Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

A Great Mistake. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 20 

Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat. By Miss Mulock 10 

A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 10 

The Armourer’s Prentices. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

The House on the Marsh. F. 

Warden 10 

“ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By author of “ Dora ThdYne ” 10 
Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 
ana’s Discipline. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales. B.y Hugh Con- 
way, author of “Called Back” 10 
A Sinless Secret. By “ Rita ”. . 10 
The Amazon. By Carl Vosmaer 10 
The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 
False. By the author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

The Mystery. By Mrs. Hemw 

Wood 15 

Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. Walford 15 


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257 Be.vond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

2.58 Cousins. By L. B. Walford. . .. 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A 

Sequel to “ The Count of 
Monte-Cristo.” By Alexander 
Dumas 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair Maid. By F. W. Robinsou*20 


262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Parti. By Alexander Dumas 20 

262 The Count of Monte Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 15 

264 Pi6douche, A French Detective. 

By Fortune Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

• B 3 ' William Black 15 

266 The W^ater-Babies. A Fairy Tale 

for a Land-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

Conspiracy. By 31 rs. Alex. 
AlcVeigh 3Iiller 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser's Treasure. By Airs. 
Alex. AlcVeigh Aliller 20 

269 Lancaster'.s Clioice. By Airs. 

Alex. AloVeigh Aliller 20 

270 The VV^andering Jew. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

270 The W’'andering Jew. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Alysteries of Paris. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Alystbries of Paris. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

2^2 The Little Savage. By Captain 

Alarryat 10 

273 Love and Alirage; or. The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By AI. 
Betham Edwards 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 
and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte AI. 

Yonge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Alarryat (Airs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 

All’s. Henry Wood. A Alan of 
His W^ord. By W. E. Norris. 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Airs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Airs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Alary 

Cecil Hay 15 

282 Donal Grant. By George Alac- 

Donald 15 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 10 

284 Doris. By ” The Duchess ” .. 10 

^ 5 ) 


NO. PRICE. 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

286 Deldee; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

287 At War With Herself. By the 

author of ” Dora Thorne ”. . . 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of ” Dora Thome ” 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 

True Light. By a ” Brutal 
Saxon ” 10 

290 Nora’s Love Test. By Alary Cecil 

Hay.. 20 

291 Love’s Warfare. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” *. . 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. Bj’ the 

author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 10 

294 Hilda. By the author of ” Dora 

Thorne” 10 

295 A W’^oman’sAVar. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Doi’a Thorne ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Foll.y. By the author 

♦ of ‘‘ Dora Thorne ” 10 

298 Alitchelhurst Place. By Alarga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of ” Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. B}-^ the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Ladj’^ Gwen- 

doline’s Dream. By the au- 
thor of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of ” Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of ” Dora 
Thorne’’^ 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

more Cooi)er 20 

310 The Prairie. B.y J. Fenimore 

Cooper .’ 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A Week inKillarney. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 15 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill 20 

315 Tlie Alistletoe Bough, Edited 

by Aliss AI. E. Braddon 20 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Airs. Alex. 
McVeigh Aliller 20 


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317 By Mead and Stream. Charles 

Gibbon 20 

818 Tlie Pioneers; or, The Sources 
of the Susqiiehanna. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 

820 A Bit of Human Nature. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

821 The Prodigals : And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

822 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

32:1 A Willful Maid 20 

824 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

825 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald 10 

826 Phantasies. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. Bj' 
George Macdonald 10 

827 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 20 

828 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. First half. 20 
828 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Second half 20 
329 The Polish Jew. By Erckmann- 

Chatrian 10 

830 May Blossom ; or. Between Two 

Loves. By Margaret Lee 20 

8.31 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20 

332 Judith Wynne. A Novel 20 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or. Scenes 

from the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. By 

Harriett Jay 10 

33.5 The White Witch. A Novel. ... 20 

336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

337 ilemoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
Including Some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

838 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 
Doudney 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve. By “The Duchess” 10 

843 The Talk of the Town. By 
James Payn 20 

344 “The Wearing of the Green.” 

By Basil 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

846 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 10 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 
Vince 20 


348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


PRICE» 

349 The Two Admirals. A Tale of 

the Sea. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

351 The House on the Moor. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

352 At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 

. rett 10 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 

end of Montrose. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 

Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 
Felbermann 10 

356 A (Jood Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

357 John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 

wick Harwood 20 

359 The Water-Witch. By J. Feni- 


iiiui C/ • 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 20 

361 The Red Rover. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20. 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

Sir Walter Scott 10 

364 Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 10 

365 George Christy; or. The Fort- 

unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 
Pastor 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 

The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 

368 The Southern Star ; or, The Dia- 

mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hiim- 

phry Ward 10 

370 Lucy Crof ton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 20 

372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 

thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”, 10 

373 Wing-and-Wing. J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 


374 The Dead Man’s Secret; or. The 

Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
dent. By Dr, Jupiter Paeon.. 20 

375 A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 

Burnaby, of the Royal Horse 


Guards 20 

376 The Crime of Christmas-Bay. 

By the author of “ My DUc- 
ats and My Daughter 10 

377 Magdalen Hepburn: A Story 

of the Scottish Reformation. 

By Mrs. Oliphant 21 


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378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase. J. Fenimore Cooper. , 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound.”) By J. 
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380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 

Knoll. J. Fenimore Cooper. . 20 

381 The Red Cardinal. By Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters: or, Sketches of 

a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling. . . 10 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 

ilton Aid6 10 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. Capt. Fred Burnaby. 20 

385 The Headsman; or, TheAbbaye 

des Vignerons. By J. Feni- 


more Cooper 20 

386 Led Astray ; or, “La Petite Comt- 

esse.” By Octave Feuillet. . . 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. By 

Charlotte French 20 

388 Addie’s Husband; or, Through 

Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “Love or Lands?” 10 

389 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas... 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

391 The Heart of Mid-LothiaUi. By 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir Wai- 

te n-Scott 20 

393 The Pirate. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

395 Tho Archipelago on Fire. By 

Jules Verne 10 

3% Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Ncuchette Carey *. 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 

By Robert Buchanan 10 

399 Miss Brown, By Vernon Lee. . 20 

400 The W^t of Wish-Ton-Wish. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Wavorloy. Dy Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lillieclcaf; or, Passages in the 

Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs. 


Oliphont 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R, Cole- 

ridge 20 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” . 10 


NO. prick- 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis ... 10 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Sam- 

uel Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

409 Boy’s Wife, By G, J. Whyte- 

Melville . 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 

411 A Bitter Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

412 Some One Else. ByB. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

416 Jack Tier; or, The Florida Reef, 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

417 The Fair Slaid of Perth ; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 20 

419 The Chainbearer ; or. The Little- 

p^age Manuscripts. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

420 Sataustoe; or. The Littlepage 

Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 


421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of The Littlepage Manu- 
scripts. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

422 Precaution. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

423 The Sea-Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 


Voyage to Cathay.. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

425 The Oak Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 

worth Taylor 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
formerly known as “ Tommy 
Upmore.” R. D. Blackmore. 20 

428 Z^ro : A Story of Monte Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell Praed 10 





I 


BOULDERSTO'NE; 


OR, 


NEW MEN AND OLD POPULATIONS. 


A NOVEL. 


By WILLIAM SIME. 




-U- ■ 

; Ai ii o . 

NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 87 Vandewater Street. 




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BOULDERSTONE 


CHAPTER I. 

CAPTAIN JANSEN. 

Perhaps the hardest thing in the world for ah active man is to 
settle down to doing nothing. Certainly Captain John Jansen, at 
the end of his year’s residence on the banks of the Boulder, began 
to feel that being at complete leisure was not halt so nice a thing as 
he had anticipated during thirty years of sea-faring. Many a time 
when his bark was putting her head into the spray, and in the dark- 
ness of the night he tramped between the wheel and the deck-house, 
he had told himself that things might be different with him. He 
had been a prosperous man, as prosperity counts among sailors. 
In his native town of Boulderstone he was regarded as a substan- 
tial person of property. Boy and man, Jansen had always turned 
up at Boulderstone when his voyages were over; and as "the years 
went by, the quidnuncs were aware that he had a good standing 
account at the bank, that he had shares in the gas company recently 
started, and that the ship he sailed was three parts his own. Such 
being the case, it was no more than natural that when his bark was 
heading through the North Sea in a murky night, and there was 
not even a star to show him his bearings, every now and then the 
raw, cold edge of a wave coming on board to liit him on the face, 
Captain Jansen should think how different'it might be with him if 
he liked. 

On the banks of the Boulder he had a cottage of his ow^n, where, 
in the dark evenings, he knew he could draw his curtains together 
and enjoy the blaze of his log fire in comfort and dryness. The 
picture of that cottage haunted his imagination for several voyages. 
He saw it in the night watches when the mate thrust his voice into 
his slumbers to tell him Kiere was a full gale coming down, and 
they must bring in the lop-sails. It was a sign, he thought, that 
old age was arriving, a sign that he resented; but the more the 
hardships of rough weather asserted themselves, the more he saw 
himself inside the cottage, his curtains drawn, and no more voy- 
ages to make. Thus it came about that, returning from the Baltic, 
he parted with his shares in his bark and returned in his haste for 
leisure to Boulderstone, and after a year of it he was the most rest- 
less man in the country-side. 

It was all such a change to him. Everything was always so 
square and stationary within the cottage from the first day. It 
presented not a single incident from morning to night. He got out 


BOULDEllSTONE. 


10 

of bed and through his dressing without as much as a lui ch to this 
side or that. And he missed the sensation, for his dressing in the 
morning used to be like a fight with some invisible imp who kept 
snatching his garments here and there. He never knew how much 
he liked it all, however, till he exchanged his “ bunk ” tor a bed- 
room, and opened his eyes each morning on motionless furniture, 
without a creak or a sound in it. He did all he could to be contented 
too; but he was not an old enough man to take the change with 
complete gratitude. Having seen things at such a variety of angles 
on board his ship, he required time to accommodate himself to the 
ordinary horizontal. By the time he had got used to having his 
coffee unspilled, his meat without one or two preliminary rolls on 
the floor, and his crockery unbroken, he had his grievances on hand. 
There was nothing for him to do but to stroll to the bank-head of 
the river mouth, tap the barometer, look across the bay, criticise the 
ships in the ofiing with some old sailors seated in the shelter, and 
return again to his cottage to look down at the stream which 
flowed past the bottom of his garden. At least he thought there 
was nothing, which was much the same thing. 

It was autumn at Boulderstone, and the captain was sitting in his 
garden, less appreciative of the mildness which was still in the 
weather than he might have been. The captain’s cottage was on the 
Arcadian side of the town — the side, that is, which had been built 
on a line with the river, a residence on the river-side being the last 
stage of respectability reached by the successful ones of the burgh. 
Just at the point where his garden rose from the banks the river 
took a wide sweep, so that, the tide being in, it looked more like an 
estuary than a stream. In truth, as the captain stood by his porch 
enveloping his own head in clouds of smoke from a pipe with a gi- 
gantic bowl, there was far more estuary than stream about it. Half 
a dozen cobles, full of boys who had somehow got a hold of them 
after the salmon- fishers had gone ashore, were racing each other in 
front of his parapet. Captain Jansen looked on in silence, took a 
turn up and down the shingle, walked to the bottom of the garden, 
and sat down on the parapet, smoked harder than ever, and most 
fervently wished himself at sea again. At that moment he was sick 
of leisure, and would have given anything to be standing on the 
hurricane deck of his bark, the white-crested rollers careering to 
right and to left of him, while he roared his orders up the mizzen- 
mast to the prehensile men clinging to the shrouds. To look at 
Captain Jansen, it was, indeed, little wonder that he should be re- 
gretting his life of activity. He was fifty, certainly, but any man 
half his age might have envied the brightness of his gray eye, the 
freshness of his olive-tinted cheeks, the agility of his walk, and the 
neatness of his apparel. A stranger on seeing him would have been 
apt to credit him with the possession of some care-taking wife who 
expended all her loving energy upon his clothes and his food. But 
the captain had no wife. He had taken care of himself all his 
days, and the habit of “ nattiness ” had come to him with his sea 
training. Jean Scott, his housekeeper, took it on herself to see 
that he was as well cared for as if he had a wife. And it was one 
of Jean’s chief obiects in life to maintain the captain in a wifeless 
condition. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


11 


He was still keeping watch at his parapet when at the side gate, 
which led by a graveled walk to his front door, a noise of dogs at- 
tracted his attention. On the inside of the gate, Oscar, his large 
black retriever, was answering with his deep bass voice certain short, 
sharp sounds that were being issued trom the outside. “ Gae wa’ 
in wi' ye, Oscar, man,’' Jean Scott was saying, as she shook her apron 
at the elephantine gambols of the retriever. “ It’s that crater trae 
the schule-hoose. ” 

“ No, he’s no in,” Captain Jansen heard her exclaiming with the 
most brazen effrontery, while she made a vain endeavor with her 
foot to check the entrance of a blue Skye terrier. 

‘‘ Hey there! What is that you’re saying, Jean?” shouted the 
captain from the bottom of the garden. 

‘‘ Gude sake, the captain’s in the gairden. I’ll tak ony message 
till’m ye’ll gie me.” 

By this time the retriever and the terrier were performing mad 
circles among the flower-beds, and exchanging the wildest mani- 
festations of friendship; and the captain himself was halt-way up 
the walk. 

” Thank you, Jean,” said a pleasant voice from the outside; “ 1 
think 1 hear Captain Jansen. My message is rather long to deliver 
at the outside of the gate.” 

” Come awa’ in, theu,” said Jean, whose detected prevarication 
did not in the least humble her. And a tall girl stepped past the 
housekeeper to meet the captain, whose brown cheeks became 
flushed as he quickened his pace to meet her. 

“ I’m sorry, ma’am, you’ve been kept standing,” said Captain 
Jansen, saluting as if he had seen a commodore. 

“Jean doesn’t like me,” the girl remarked loud enough for the 
housekeeper to hear. 

“ Oh, I’ve naeihing against ye,” said Jean, with a snort of con- 
tempt, as she disappeared, while the captain stood bashfully on the 
walk to hear what the girl had to say. 

“ It’s a long story, Captain Jansen,” and she smiled on him out 
of her clear, deep eyes, while the sun lighted up her golden hair. It 
was Bertha St. Clair, the school-mistress, who spoke, and the cap- 
tain, recovering himself, asked if she would step inside. 

“No, thank you. Captain Jansen; 1 think 1 could explain it all 
to you at the parapet better than in the house.” 

And the captain led the way to the parapet, where he felt in an 
abstracted way the contents of his waistcoat pockets. 

“It isn’t a subscription,” said Bertha, gently; “at least, not 
yet.” 

Captain Jansen withdrew his fingers, smiling. 

“ You will think me impertinent at first,” pursued Bertha. 

“ Not a bit of it, ma’am.” 

“ You will think me impertinent and interfering, for 1 am going 
to ask you to do something which is business, and the parish minis- 
ter has just told me that if 1 attend to my school 1 have more than 
enough on my hands.” 

“ You’ve a good deal on your hands, ma’am,” said the captain, 
admiringly. 

“ les; but I can’t help coming to you, Captain Jansen, and sug- 


12 BOULPERSTONE. 

gesting what looks like an impertinence. I want you to interest 
yourself in some people 1 am too poor to help.” 

The captain saw his way, and pledged himself at once. 

” That 1 will, right gladly.” 

Miss St. Clair’s lip quivered a little, and her eyes moistened as 
she paused to swallow a lump in her thioat. 

“ Thank you. Captain Jansen,” she replied, hurriedly. ” 1 knew 
1 should have your help; and, believe me, 1 think you will never 
regret giving it as long as you live. Well, you remember the great 
storm of the 18th, that so many people have suffered by?” 

“Ido.” 

” And what you don’t know is that, if something isn’t done, sev- 
eral families in the Fisher Biggins will starve m a few months’ 
time.” 

The captain pushed back his hat reproachfully, asking, 

“ What can we do, ma’am?” 

“You can’t keep all these families. Captain Jansen, and I know 
you’ve been giving them half their keep tor some weeks past.” 

” Not I, indeed, ma’am,” said the captain, quickly. ” 1 haven’t 
given them a farthing’s worth.” 

‘‘ No, but you haven’t taken a farthing tor their rents, which is 
the same thing. But something must be done for them. You 
know that the four best boats on the shore were wrecked, and the 
fragments of them have kindled their tires. We must get them new 
boats, or the men will go about in idleness, and their wives and 
children starve. And the business 1 am going to propose to you is 
this — you are to buy the boats for them. Captain Jansen.” 

” Do you know the price of one of them boats and the gear, 
ma’am?” 

” Y’es, 1 have found out all the prices. They are here,” replied 
Bertha, bringing a formidable document from her pocket. ” It will 
take some hundred pounds to buy and equip each boat.” 

” That’s a lot of money, ma’am.” 

” Yes, but you are not to give the boats to the people. Y ou are to 
own them, and let them have shares in them; and when they can 
buy them you will sell them.” 

‘‘ It’s a new thing to put out money in that way. It may be 
£1600 of it, ma’am; you’ll have to give me a little time to turn it 
all over. The people sha’n’t starve, but I’ll have to get time to 
think over it.” 

A look of doubt and pain passed over Bertha’s face. She had 
convinced herself that her scheme would be as apparent to Captain 
Jansen as to herself. His hesitation seemed to raise new difficulties 
in her way. 

” But it is not a new scheme. Captain Jansen. It has been tried 
on the Frith of Forth, and it has succeeded. This letter will explain 
everything to you better than I can.” 

” I’m sure, ma’am, it is all right if you say it; but, look you, 
£1600 is no trifle to the like o’ me. Not but what I can make up 
that amount at a pinch, and maybe as much more again to that, 
and not but what I would make it up if you think the money well 
put out. Only give me a day or two, and keep your own counsel. 


BOULDEKSTOjq-E. 


13 


ma’am. If there’s no other way out of the difficulty, we’ll try it; 
but a little time will do nobody any harm.” 

‘‘Captain Jansen,” said Bertha, eagerly, “1 knew you would 
not refuse to help me; and though 1 must — even to you — look both 
bold and impertinent — ” 

” Stow that, ma’am,” interrupted the captain, earnestly. ” Im- 
pertinence from you is a mighty sight nicer than other people’s 
respect.” 

” You will understand,” proceeded the girl, rapidly, ” that it is 
for the sake of people who will starve and die if they are not given 
u chance to live.” 

” 1 Rnow, I know,” said the captain, looking at her respectfully, 
with the slightest intonation of tenderness in his voice. 

And that night, as Captain Jansen blew out his lamp and turned 
on his pillow to sleep, he forgot for the first time for months his 
grievances and longings, and murmured, ‘‘So, 1 am to be a boat 
proprietor, am 1?” 


CHAPTER 11. 

MOTHER AI^D SON. 

Continental Europe is the playground of the moneyed classes 
of Great Britain, but it is also sometimes their place of reluge. All 
over the waftn and sunny nooks of the Mediterranean English faces 
are to be seen upon balconies which command peeps of the blue 
sea, are to be found in gardens where the statues are lithe and 
strange, are not to be met among the pillars of little cathedral 
churches where a great master has left a divine face upon a canvas 
on the wall. But few of the wanderers turn up at Palermo, for it 
is off the beaten track; having got as far south as Naples, the 
majority bethink themselves that it is time to turn their faces north- 
ward again. Reaching Naples, they begin to hear of the brigands in 
Calabria and Sicily, and having no mind to pay ransoms, they do 
not avail themselves of the excellent steamboat which plies between 
the two most superb bays of the south. How was it that Lady 
Dutton and her son. Sir Neil, had pushed so far south in the 

autumn of ? They are sitting at an open balcony of a window 

in the Trinacria Hotel this September evening. Besides themselves 
there is nobody in the hotel who professes to speak English; they 
are. indeed, the only English people there. Palermo evenings are 
never chilly; but Lady Dutton is, or chooses to think she is, an in- 
valid; and the environment of warm wraps that confine her to her 
chair as she looks out on the bay, doited with numerous ships, 
seems to justify the pretension. And the look on the young man’s 
face who is leaning his shoulder against the framework of the win- 
dow, while he runs his finger through the leaves of a mock plant 
trailing down the wall, is one of tender solicitude, as if there were 
no doubt about it. No one who examined the face of Lady Dutton 
could, however, have supposed that there was much the matter 
with her. There are lines on the low brow on which her perfectly 
black hair is braided, but they tell less of physical pain than of 
mental anxiety. In her keen black eyes there is no trace of the 


BOULDERSTONE. 


14 

weariness which carries such people south. They turned from the 
son's face to the bay and back a^ain with an impenetrable shrewd- 
ness. Lady Dutton was a widow of four months’ standing, and 
her widowhood was perhaps the strongest justification for the atti- 
tude and demeanor of sickness. At any rate, she needed some such 
plea to keep her son by her side, and to retain him in an affectionate 
humor. Not that Sir Neil Dutton was in the habit of venting ill- 
humor upon his mother, or that she needed the plea of weakness to 
protect herselt against a fault of temper on his part. As the tall 
young baronet leans by the side of the window and fastens his eyes 
upon his mother’s face, it is plain enough that whatever he is he is 
not ill-humored. Yet she requires to shield herselt against his 
criticism, for during the last week or two there has been much to 
explain to him, and it seems only natural to her that his surprise at 
some of the explanations should take an irritating turn now and 
again. 

“ Then it comes to this, mother,” Sir Neil was saying at the 
window, ” that we have got to Palermo more on account of poverty 
than anything else. If we had had the old income coming in, you 
would still have been at Home; but the expenses at Rome are too 
heavy for the family purse. The air of the Bay of Palermo had 
very little to do with the change.” 

” Pardon me, Neil,” said Lady Dutton, ” it was not poverty that 
drove us here. It was the air ot the Bay of Palermo recommended 
to me by Dr. Negretti, and nothing else. To use the word poverty 
at all is quite too absurd. We are In temporary difficulties. We 
are not poor ” 

“ Call it affluence if you like, my dear mother,” responded Sir 
Neil, tossing a five-franc piece in the air; ” call it affluence, but it 
seems to me to closely resemble what other people would call pov- 
eity.” 

” My dear son, you take far too dark a view ot things. You 
have been surprised. Your surprise will w^ear oft and in a short 
time all will come right again. The estates are mortgaged, it is 
true, and just when your poor father is taken away from us our in- 
come seems to stop. It is not really so; tlie estates are there all the 
same. When the lawyers have talked it over 3. dare say everything 
will come right. You must really be more cheerful for my sake.” 

Sir Neil shifted his position at the window, and straightening 
himself, showed a somewhat slender figure, stooping at the shoul- 
ders, with a head of noble frankness, the face pale, but the dark 
eyes lit up by a soft kindliness of expression which contrasted with 
the hardness ot glance conspicuous in his mother. r 

‘‘You know,” he said, “ it isn’t the povert}^ or tlie embarrass- 
ment 1 am thinking about. It’s the years of anxiety that must have 
preceded the embarrassment. This morfeaging of Boulderstoue 
has not all happened in a day. It has been going on all my time, 
and before it, ^•et 1 have heard nothing of it. On the contrary, I 
have always had more money than 1 needed, though 1 have taken 
very good care to spend it. What pains me is to think that for the 
last tour years 1 have been living at the rate of two thousand a 
year, while our affairs were practically going to the dogs.” 

Lady Dutton shivered a little and wrapped herselt more snugly 


BOULDERSTONE. 


15 


in her lounge. “ Have some p ty on me, Neil,” she said, implor- 
ingly. ” Your father, even when conscious of his embarrassments, 
never allowed himself to talk about his affairs in that strain. But 
he was so ffood and gentle,” she added, in a murmur, which had 
the double effect of becoming her widowhood and of rebuking her 
son. 

The air which came in from the bay was soft and fresh, but Sir 
Neil volunteered to shut it out if his mother felt it chilly. No, 
Lady Dutton would like to see the sun going down behind Monte 
Pellegrino. Besides, the evening air was the sovereign remedy of 
the place. 

” Yes, he was good and gentle,” repeated Sir Neil, leaning again 
at the window, his eye wandering into the horizon and detecting 
the smoke of a stesimboat in the furthest line of distance, where the 
sea and sky seemed to join. 

“You say it as if he were neither,” said his mother, glancing 
wearily at him. 

” No, mother, you mistake me; but 1 have just been thinking 1 
never knew him. These four years back 1 have not spent as many 
days with him. 1 took up the foolish frncy that my presence irri- 
tated him, and as he said nothing to induce me to come back to 
Boulderstone, London, or Edinburgh, I. kept out of the way since 
1 left Oxford. 1 have been at Paris to-day, Vienna to-morrow, 
Rome the next. I did not even chronicle my movements always. 
It was a selhsh life, wholly selfish; but 1 hud no idea how utterly 
selfish it has been.” 

“ Poor, dear Sir Neil was not very careful, however,” interpolated 
Lady Dutton, now that her son w'as relapsing into a dangerously 
desponding tone of conversation. ‘‘ Of course, 1 had no idea all 
these years that he was borrowing upon the estates so liberall}^ — no 
idea whatever; but 1 did think that his ‘ fads ’ w’ere quite too ex- 
pensive. You can’t think how much money he threw aw^ay upon 
mere trifles. There was the Pictish ruin, don’t you know. Well, it 
was no sooner dug out of its mold of earth than your poor father 
must get a professional antiquary from Edinburgh. He lived at 
Boulderstone for six months, deciphered a few griffins on the 
stones, delved up the boat of a viking, and took so many photo- 
graphs that our e 3 "es were worn out looking at them. lie next 
induced your father to publish a magnificent edition of a volume 
upon the ruin, which was gorgeously bound and presented to hun- 
dreds of different families. It was 8ir Neil’s boast that every 
library in the world contained a copy of the ruins.” 

The son siuiled faintly as he interrupted his mother to say, “ And 
another antiquary from Glasgow demolished the folio in a pamphlet 
which cost nothing.” 

” Possibly,” said Lady Dutton; ” and Sir Neil, you know, had 
always a craze for freeing people from things. I’m sure 1 think 
how many precious thousands it must have taken him to free peo- 
ple from things. His craze — I am sure,” said the widow, tenderly, 
” 1 may call it a craze— for oppressed races cost him many, many 
thousands. He kept two secretaries, who made cuttings each day 
about the Maories, the Saskatchewans, the Roumanians, and the 
Poles. He has left you volumes, Neil, that he hoped you might be 


BOULDEllSTOKE. 


16 

able to publish after him. You can see that you have not b(*en the 
only one to spend money. And then the inventions he bought and 
adopted. At the Home Farm, the factor told me there were hun- 
dreds of pounds of old iron and steel, originally inventions.” 

” And not to know of all this, mother. Can’t you see how it 
vexes me that we should never have understood each other better — 
my father and 1? 1 might have helped him in his later days; but 
instead of that 1 have been going all over Europe, from library to 
library, from opera-house to opera-house, from one bright set of 
men and women to another bright set further oft, living for the 
enjoyment and the cultivation of self. And this is what it has all 
come to. You and 1 are sitting at a balcony in Palermo, banished 
from Europe, j'ou may say, because we have not the means of ap- 
pearing in society. We are taking refuge in the cheapest JJTtimcf> 
Thule, except our own Boulderstone, that we can find. Here we 
are, in debt to our very bool -maker, tailor, and milliner; and here, 
more particularly, 1 am in my six-and-twentieth year, without a 
profession, without a prospect of a career. 1 had better shave my 
mustache and razor the crown of my head and join the Dominicans 
of Conca d’Oro.” 

Lady Dutton looked at her son with a glance of mingled affection 
and displeasure. “You forget, my son, that if you have no pro- 
fession, you are Sir Lleil Dutton of Boulderstone. . At the next elec- 
tion you may, if you like, become Sir iSJeil Dutton, M.P. You are 
young; you have your mother’s face; you may marry whom you 
choose, in Rome there are half a dozen American girls who are 
quite too eager to have your society. In London you can do better 
still.” 

“ For God’s sake, mother, don’t speak as it marriage were a pro- 
fession!” 

“ Son, it is much better than a profession. Be advised by me, 
and you shall marry Boulderstone out of its mortgages. You shall 
marry. Sir Neil Dutton, into a career. And you shall marry the 
Dowager Lady Dutton into a background which shall not be more 
contemptible than that occupied by those of her kind.” 

Sir Neil looked at his mother sadly, feeling in his heart that it 
his father did not know him, neither assuredly did his mother. 

“ After all, mother,” he added, in a lower tone of voice, “ when 
we have got that final statement of affairs from Edinburgh, and if 
it is not bankruptcy we have to face, I can get my living myself, 1 
believe.” 

“ Get your living!” said Lady Dutton, rising from her couch 
with a gesture as unlike that of an invalid as it could well be. “ Get 
your living! Why, of course you shall. But you shall get it as 
your father, and your father’s father, and his ancestors before him 
have got it. It shall be as the head of your house and as lord of 
your own manor. Neil, 1 am almost ashamed of you,” she said, 
gathering up her dress, and pacing slowly along the polished oak of 
the uncarpeted floor. 

The young man hardly turned to look after her. Within a few 
weeks lire whole aspect of the world seemed to have changed for 
him. The step from opulence to necessity had been as rude an eye- 
opener as the unexpected death of his father. His lather’s death 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


17 

had always been a possibility to which be was called to look for- 
ward. It was the thing that had to happen some time, and his 
father being but little to him in life, he was able to bear his removal 
with a contemplative sadness which was swiftly its own cure. The 
arrival of poverty was a blow of another kind altogether. He had 
never hitherto conceived poverty, except in the abstract— as a kind 
of negative state, wdiich had rags and hunger as its positive accom- 
paniments. It had not gone so far as that yet — it might never go so 
far; but, at any rate, he had reason to dread the appearance of the 
next hotel bill, so low were the funds at his disposal. Besides, 8ir 
!Neil Dutton had occupied his mind with other thoughts than pounds-, 
shillings, and pence. Pie had busied himself with speculations about 
European policy, with schemes of a course of philosophy of the 
universe, with some of the poetry and prose of at least six litera- 
tures. and with the art of six peoples, and it came hard to him to 
substitute for these higher objects the paltry worries entailed in 
watching the passing away of five-franc pieCes. Fora week or two 
there was a slight novelty in it, but the novelty died aw^ay when he 
found himself walking miles where he would otherwise have rid- 
den, smoking inferior cigars wiien he would otherwise have indulged 
in the best, receiving looks of contempt from menials wdiose smiles 
he would otherwu’se have bribed. He was still leaning at the balcony 
when, to his surprise, he saw Lady Dutton cross the IMarina and 
stoop to kiss a little woman who had just ascended the steps from 
the bay. Close by a steam-j’^acht had cast anchor. The ladies were 
unaccompanied. Sir ISeil stepped down to meet them. 


CHAPTER 111. 

BERTHA ST. CLAIR AT WORK. 

The “ charity school ” of BouUlerstone was not the chief educa- 
tional establishment of the place. It was a very primary affair in- 
deed, at the end of a lane by itself, one half of its diamond- paned 
windows looking out upon the currant-bushes of Lucky Draver, 
who kept two cows, and was esteemed to have a stocking some- 
where in her floor or ceiling; the other half upon the lane itself. 
The “ parish school was a more imposing edifice in a pait of the 
town where there was more life and bustle, and its benches were 
crowded by taller boys and girls than frequented “ the charity.” 
The morsels who conveyed themselves on their small legs to “ the 
charity ” had but little literature to carry with them, and most of 
that within paper covers merely. They had not reached the dignity 
of straps to tie round them; and indeed they only went there at all 
as long as they were very small and ignorant. Having got an insight 
into things deep enough to enable them to read words of two sylla- 
bles and to do sums in substraction, they were tree to make their 
way to the “ parish school,” where the soft voice of a school-mistress 
was exchanged tor the harsh tongue of a master in the habit of 
emphasizing his explanations, remarks, and requests by the rattle 
of a stout cane. The mistress of ” the charity ” was Bertha St. 
Clair. Looking in on an autumn morning, Bertha, book in band. 


BOULDEllSTOKE. 


18 

might have been seen bending over a line of youngsters, boys and 
girls, and the rays of the sun lighting up her golden hair. Bobbie 
North is at the head of the class, and has spelled four words, three 
syllables in length; and Johnnie Rae is at the bottom, where he al- 
ways is, having no more conception of the way to put a syllable to 
a syllable and sound it, allot his own accord, than has the last blue- 
bottle of the season, who has just flown in at the window, greaily 
to Johnnie’s delight. 

“Johnnie, you must keep that little toe of yours to the line,” 
Bertha tells him, “and not turn round and round after that fly. 
He’s a beauty, but he won’t teach you to spell like Bobbie North.” 

Bobbie, who is two inches smaller than Johnnie, glances along 
the line of the form, and looks patronizingly at the tall booby at the 
other end, who is secretly making up his mind that he will punch 
the dux’s head as soon as it is time to “ skail.” Meanwhile, how- 
ever, he fastens his eyes on his book, and tries to appease the school- 
mistress, whose good opinion, albeit he is a booby, he values highly. 

As Bertha proceeds with the lesson, first one boy with a slate and 
then another come up from the furthest region of the room, and 
solicit her attention. They both look profoundly miserable as they 
stare at the figures in front of them. They have tried the sum 
every way it will go; but, poor souls, having got 6 and 6 make 12, 
and 9 to raise it to 21, they have to stop at the difficulty created by 
an additional 11. The sum is so- tremendously top-heavy with an 
eleven to it that they see no means of arriving at a total. 

“ Try,” says Bertha, beginning an old saw, which a loud voice 
from the floor catches up and sings lustily to its termination, in 
“ try, try, again.” 

“ Georgie Dunbar, this is not the singing lesson,” she tells the 
boy who is crawling on all fours. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” screams a little girl quite close by the spot to 
which Bertha is devoting her reprimand, and the last “ oh ” is fol- 
lowed by a hysterical outburst of tears. Bertha moves through the 
forms from the class and the boys with the slates, and in a twink- 
ling Georgie Dunbar is unearthed from the floor, deposited on the 
other side of a door, which closes on him abruptly, and the weeping 
damsel is removed to a place near the fire. A pin has been run into 
her leg, and five minutes after the drop of red blood, W'hich is the 
outward token of the wound, has been removed, a gasp, and a sob, 
and tears still show how painful it has been. Quiet, however, has 
been restored, Bobbie North is again spelling his w^ay triumphantly 
through a three-syllable word, and Johnnie Kae is nursing his 
enmity at the dux; and the arithmeticians in the back corner, in 
sheer despair, have relapsed into various artistic efforts to produce 
horses and pigs on their slates; and others are eagerly occupied, 
and preparing to stand up for a reading, when a great crash from 
behind the door makes it obvious that Georgie Dunbar is enliven- 
ing his imprisonmeiit with experiments. Bertha opens the door, 
looks in, then shuts it behind her, and her deep, low voice is heard 
in earnest conversation with the culprit. 

But the spirit of St. Vitus or some other saltatory saint immedi- 
ately gets into the school-room. An ally of Georgie Dunbar’s 
thinks it necessary to sneak round to the fire, and inserting two 


BOULDERSTONE. 


19 


fingers into bis moutb and two into the corners of his eyes, he makes 
a hideous face at the little girl whose screams have produced the 
catastrophe at the other side of the door. Johnnie Kae finds it a 
capital opportunity for bringing a pointer over the head of the dux; 
and Billie Barns, who has the face of an Immaculate Conception in. 
Raphael, rushes to overturn a form of rather dirty cherubs behind 
him. The arithmeticians chase each otJier round the coal-scuttle 
and the black-board, whooping like savages, so that, when Bertha 
opens the door and Georgie Dunbar with his red but penitent eyes 
emerges, a hand in the hand of his mistress, he looks like a model 
animal introduced as an example to a caravan of wild ones. As 
suddenly as the storm arose it dropped again at the sight of the tall 
figure, and the sweet, strong face. Tliere is an ignominious crawl- 
ing of the boys beneath forms before there is a perfect readjustment, 
but by the time Georgie Dunbar has been taken to the fireside to 
shake hands with the little girl into whose inoffensive limb he had 
thrust the pin, there is not a whisper stirring. 

“ Now, boys and girls, there is Georgie Dunbar come back again, 
and he is not the same boy W'ho put the pin into Lizzy Gun’s leg. 
It is a wicked, cruel demon who did that — not this boy. And you 
are to remember that you are to be kind and loving to each other, 
not rude and cruel. And big, strong boys like Georgie Dunbar 
must be good to little girls like Lizzy, who. I’m sure, w'ould not 
hurt a mouse.” 

When the little ones rush screaming into the lane Bertha has time 
to turn her mind to a more serious part of her day’s work. Prop- 
erly speaking, her w'ork ought to be done when the small people 
have escaped: but the school-misiress has taken it on her to teacli 
halt a dozen lads what she can of geography, logarithms, and gram- 
mar. 

Boulderstone as a sea-side town has got a suppl}'- of lads who, 
sooner or later, expect to command ships; and it takes all their 
knowledge of them and other subjects to give them confidence to 
stand up in the Board rooms of Leitii and Greenock to answer be- 
fore examiners for their practical and theoretical seamanship. One 
of Bertha’s afternoon pupils is thirty at least, and having been all 
round the w’orld as a boatsw'ain, is anxious to renew' his travels in 
the capacity of mate. To him Bertha has to impart grammar and 
a know'ledge of the globes in the first instance. As he rolls into the 
little school-room, touching his forelock, his Scandinavian features 
light up with a respectful smile. He is getting on, having only 
learned to write six months ago; and as he takes his place in front 
of a sphere, it is evidently a pleasure to him to be realizing as knowl- 
edge what he has seen wMth his owm eyes. 

‘‘ We’ll lake a voyage to-day from the Clyde to Calcutta,” says 
Bertha, approaching from her black-board, where she has been 
chalking up a demonstration in geometry for some others of her 
pupils. ” Read me oft all the names of the seas as you point out 
the route to me. W^e shall go by the Cape of Good Hope, if you 
please.” 

” Well, ma’am, if 1 shut my eyes 1 could screed ye off the route 
sooner than with the globe in front o' me.” 


w 


BOULDERSTONE. 


“ Do, Mr. Baikie,” said Bertha, “let me hear the route first in 
that way; then you can compare it with the ^;lobe.” 

And Mr. Baikie had got as tar as the Bay ot Biscay, and was just 
being told to begin again and to go over the chief headlands along 
the Irish Channel, when five other pupils slouched into the room. 

“ Good-day, ma’am,” came from the lips of each as they took 
their seats, three of them neatly-dressed lads with pilot-jackets, one 
ot them with no jacket at all, only a pair of red cotton straps slung 
across his shoulders to keep his “ pants ” from the ground; another 
— a gnarled, ugly lad of sixteen or thereabouts— having no coat. 

Each of them settled down to his task, however, with a look of 
earliest application that showed how clearly defined an aim he had 
in being there under the mistress’s tuition. 

“You have missed three capes. Mi. Baikie,” said Bertha to the 
boatswain, who was slowly humming his way through them in a 
deep bass voice. “ 1 shouldn’t care to be a passenger in your ship 
that voyage.” 

Mr Baikie blushed, pushed his hand through his hair, and began 
again, while Bertha filled in the letters tor her demonstration on the 
black-board; and the five pupils, taking their slates, sat down in 
front ot it in silence. Baikie was then set to writing out the capes, 
while the others in turn went through their proposition in Euclid. 

For two hours it was a scene of silent hard work, and any one 
who might have chosen to peep through the diamond panes could 
have done so with impunity, tor the six were so preoccupied that 
they scarcely allowed their eyes to stray from their tasks. 

“ 1 think,” said Bertha, addressing the three pilot-jacketed lads, 
“ that when you go before the examiners they will admit you know 
your Euclid at all events. And I’m sure you will all be writing at 
the end of next month to say that you’ve passed and got ships.” 

Three pairs of sparkling eyes were turned on her affectionately, 
and one ot the lads, spokesman for the emotions of his companions, 
answered, 

“ It wid be right enough, ma’am, if you was the examiner; but 
it's a bonny odds o’ differ when one o’ them shore captains puts 
the questions. He don’t put it to ye to get the answer; he puts it 
to bamboozle ye like, an’ then it all flees away from ye.” 

“ Courage, Jack,” said Bertha; “ don’t be put upon by the shore 
captains, and you’ll certainly pass. Be as cool and collected as you 
are now, and no fear ot you. And Captain Jansen has promised 
me to tell you all that you are likely to be asked about masts and 
spars, and steering a course, and taking in and letting out sails.” 

And just at that moment a knock was heard at the door, and the 
head of Captain Jansen showed itself inside the school-room. Bertha 
advanced with a free, open manner to receive him, saying, 

“ Come in, captain; we were just speaking about you.” 

“ Speak about the— you know who, ma’am, and he’ll appear,” said 
the captain. “ 1 wouldn’t like to disturb you at duty. How d’ye 
do, Baikie? Boxing the globes? It’s just this,” continued Captain 
Jansen, hat in hand, and addressing Bertha directly, “ I’ve been 
looking into that matter, and 1 see my way. I’ll see about it at 
once.” 


BOULDERSTONE. 

Bertha followed him to the little passage, where he retreated on 
making his announcement, and her pupils'heard her ejaculating, 

“ 1 knew you would, Captain Janseu,” in an emphatic voice. 

AYhen she returned to the room her face had a glow of pleasura- 
ble excitement on it; and as she dismissed the class it occurred to 
one of the pupils to remark in the lane that he “ wadna wonner if 
the cap’n married Miss St. Clair.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

BUSINESS. 

A WEEK may make a great difference in a young man’s life. At 
any rate it seems as if a week were to make all the difference in the 
life of Sir Neil Dutton. The last time we saw him he was deep in 
certain perplexities which were new to him. Before parting with 
even a silver coin he had to look at both sides of it. The experi- 
ence had not been unamusing to him when it first came upon him 
in Rome. It struck him as odd that he should not be able to move 
from one street to another without interrupting the ordinary cur- 
rent of his thoughts by a reference to small change. 

In Paris, Berlin, Vienna, where so much of his previous years had 
been spent, he had only to dip his fingers into his purse and his 
moderate wants were at once supplied. If he passed a book-shop 
where the greatest triumph of English or French literature was 
lying in its Hesh, uncut condition, he had it sent to his rooms with- 
out further ado. If he was seized with a desire to be possessed of a 
bit of antique lace for his mother, he did not stop to higgle over its 
price. He" bought it and posted it to her. If he envied a drink- 
ing-cup or a cameo, he was never put to it to consider the ways and 
means— the drinking-cup and cameo were forthwith added to the 
swollen stores of bric-d-brac he had accumulated in his wanderings. 
Since his father’s death in the south uf France, however, Sir Neil 
had been abruptly taugnt that the step between desire and posses- 
sion is a much longer one when the distance between them is not 
bridged over with a full purse. At first, as 1 have said, it amused 
him to make the discovery; then it bewildered him; then it irritated 
him, and began to produce those gloomy reveries which to Lady 
Dutton were so disagreeable. Sir Neil was not naturally addicted 
to taking dark views of things. His nature always lent itself to the 
brightest possible outlook under any given circumstances; and since 
the arrival of the yacht in the bay several things had occurred to 
lighten the darkness which appeared to hang round his immediate 
future. Some indication of the change may be gathered from the 
conversation of the baronet with a small elderly gentleman of fifty 
or thereabouts, who is facing him on the balcony at sundown. The 
room stretches in its cool vastness behind them, its walls and ceiling 
glowing with pastorals which artistic, generous hands had devised 
for princes before the place became a hotel. 

But both men sitting at the window with the open sea before them 
apparently enjoy the coolness of the scene. 

“Then you think,” Sir Neil was saying to the little gentleman 


BOULDERSTONE. 


opposite, “ that on a fair consideration of the circumstances, the 
Boiilderstone property has still a career before it. It is not to be a 
case of bankruptcy for my mother and myself, and a scramble tor 
a livelihood afterward, handicapped by my father’s title?” ^ 

“1 think, sir, on the contrary,” answered the baronet’s com- 
panion, who had the lips of the fingers of his right hand dovetailed 
to the tips of the fingers of his left, and who looked over his hands 
with searching eye upon his questioner, talking at the same time in 
English which had the slow motion of Scotch, though it wanted 
words from the vernacular — “ i think, sir, on the contrar}’’, that 
Boulderstone ought to be made to pay its way in such a manner as 
to reward ,you with a sufficient income.” 

” You know so much about these things, Mr. Frazer, that I mn 
inclined to build hope upon your assertions, ’’replied Sir !Neil, rising 
to shake the ashes of his cigar into a lava bowl. 

“ 1 have had a good deal of experience in connection with land in 
Scotland and elsewhere, and from what 1 know of the circum- 
stances of your properly. Sir Neil, I’m perfectly convinced that, 
with arrangement and care, you might begin to realize an income 
in the course of the year. Your quarries alone, properly worked, 
should supply three cities with pavement. It could be done. Don’t 
doubt me; it could be done. Your fisheries should pay — your river 
fisheries, 1 mean. VVith the estates consolidated, and these in 
working order, a year should be ample to produce a fair income; 
and you are not extravagant, sir, 1 can see that— your tastes are 
simple. ’ ’ 

Sir Neil smiled, and involuntarily put his hand into the pocket 
where his almost empty purse reposed. 

“ I always understood that 1 was to have the enjoyment of £8000 
a year when 1 succeeded, and unfortunately ] have gone on for 
some years enjoying about two thousand, not in the least knowing 
the difficulties of the estates. "When you talk of an income — a fair 
income— what do you exactly mean?” 

Mr. Frazer shitted his position in his chair, looked across the 
blue bay, where his own handsome yacht was lying, and eyed the 
baronet furtively. 

“ Well, a fair income in the circumstances, with mortgages over ‘ 
the property, and lawyers threatening foreclosure— a fair income in 
the circumstances might be the two thousand you enjoyed up to 
the date of your father’s death. In a couple of years, wdth proper 
management, you might be making that.” 

” 1 wish 1 understood the details of business better,” replied Sir 
Neil, abstractedly. ” You see, for years I’ve been going on mind- 
ing other people’s business, looking into political situations and 
social movements, and so forth, while all this has been happening 
unawares. Had 1 only devoted one-tenih the time to the work of the 
estates that 1 have given to England and Europe at large, 1 should 
not now be facing the specter of bankruptcy.” 

Mr. Frazer shifted his position again, and tried to console Sir 
Neil by reminding him of what ” the poet said ” about “ the eternal 
want of pence that vexes public men.” 

“But the truth of it is I am not a public man,” said Sir Neil; 

“ it is a case of want of pence and being an entirely private man.” 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


23 


“ But you will be — you will be. I am a little engaged in politics 
myself, Sir Neil, behind the scenes, and 1 know what is going on. 
You will be asked to become a public man, 1 can assure you.” 

” You surprise me,” said the young man. ” 1 have scarcely made 
a speech in my life— never a speech of the slightest consequence.” 

” Nevertheless, sir, there are party managers who have your name, 
and tvho look to you as a coming member of Parliament. Your 
description of Russian institutions in the magazines has raised great 
hopes.” 

Sir Neil rose and surveyed his friend from the balcony, and re- 
sumed his seat in silence, going oft apparently in a reverie. And 
his reverie Mr. Frazer did not interrupt, though he watched him 
narrowly. The survey, too, seemed to satisfy him, for Sir Neil 
returning to active consciousness of things, he rose, held out his 
hand, and exclaimed, 

” You are to take what 1 tell you kindly, Sir Neil. 1 know all 
your circumstances as if 1 had read them in a book. 1 know’^ your 
father’s carelessness about mone 3 ’'-matters, and how he gradually got 
the estates invx>lved. 1 know how every plausible individual with a 
hobby could get him to open his purse. 1 have had transactions 
with him myself, and saw that a child could have duped him in 
money-matters. You have been ‘ handicapped,’ as you say yourself, 
just at the very beginning of your career. But you needn’t be. De- 
pend upon it, the Boulderstone property is good for all 1 say it is; 
it will yield you an income with proper management. Let me ask 
you to have it managed at once. 1 will, without hesitation, and 
believing that the thing will pay, advance as much as will open out 
the fishery and the quarries; only get a competent person to take 
things in hand. 1 could name several in whom you might have 
perfect confidence. Free your mind of business, then, and go on 
wu'th 3 'our study of politics. Take my word for it, sir, that every- 
thing wdll yet come right. With management, in the course of time 
you will get back the income you expected to succeed to.” 

” Thanks, Mr. Frazer. Your words are encouraging. Your be- 
lief in the possibilities of Boulderstone, backed by 3 miir own offer, 
satisfies me 1 have neither bankruptcy nor penury to fear. 1 can 
indulge in the luxury of a little self-respect now; 1 thought there 
was an end of it a week ago. But the sooner Boulderstone is un- 
der the management you suggest the better, and the new plans put 
into execution. 1 owe it to you, if you are to take the trouble of 
working the industries, to name the man or men you spoke of— the 
sooner the better.” 

” You give me tnat power?” 

“ Certainly,” said the baronet. 

” Then you will promise me something in return,” said Mr. 
Frazer. 

” Good.” 

” You will drive business from your mind for a fortnight or three 
weeks, get your mamma to come on board the ‘ Pert,’ and we will 
go to sea over it.” 

” Your kindness is more than 1 can thank you for, Mr. Frazer; 
but as 1 have come to Palermo on account of her health, 1 can’t 


24 BOULDEilSTONE. 

answer for her being able to go to sea. But we can go down-stairs 
and sound her on the subject.” 

When Sir Neil and Mr. Frazer were admitted into the room where 
Lady Dutton and a young girl were seated, the baronet’s mother 
received the suggestion with a swift, meaning glance at Mr. Frazer. 

‘‘ You are quite too kind, Mr. Frazer; I have just been telling 
Caroline how much 1 envied her the prospect of going out to sea. 
There is something in the air of Palermo, don’t you know, that 
scarcely seems to agree with *me. Dr. Negrett called it bracing: 1 
find it’ relaxing. 1 see from ‘ Murray ’ that the African ‘ sirocco ’ 
arrives here occasionally. That would kill Uie outright. 1 am 
sure it is providential to be taken out to sea. Then, Neil,” she con- 
tinued, looking up to her son, ‘‘ you don’t find the architecture of 
Palermo so fascinating as you expected. You have seen all you care 
about, and don’t wish to ‘ settle down ’ in your usual way till you 
have exhausted the place.” 

‘‘ Pay don’t consider me in the matter, mother. It you think you 
can stand a cruise in the Mediterranean, 1 am willing to go. But 
Miss Frazer has allowed herself to be so much of a prisoner. Be- 
fore we go 1 should like to show her the king’s gardens, the Ziza, 
and Monte Pelegrino, at least.” 

Mr. Frazer rubbed his hands softly against each other, looking 
from the baronet to his daughter; and the girl, turning her face to 
the speaker, said : 

” I’m sure 1 would like to go to the Ziza with Sir Neil.” 

” Then, child, you shall go to-morrow,” said Lady Dutton, ” and 
1 shall prepare myself for the sea.” 

After which, the gentlemen, strolling out on the Marina, lighted 
cigars, and forgot that they were on one of the loveliest nooks of 
the earth— on the lip of the Conca d’Oio, which pours its golden 
fruit upon harbors, and moles lined with palaces, lapped by a blue 
sea softly breaking in tides of whiteness from the islands beyond. 
They forgot that they were on the sacred ground of the first civi- 
lizers of Europe, because Sir Neil Dutton was full of the new idea 
that Bouldei-stone wjis to be revolutionized, and Mr. Frazer, listening 
to him, decided that he would make a first-rate son-in-law. 


CHAPTER V. 

A bird’s-eye view. , 

The estates which did not pay, and which it was the intention of 
Mr. Frazer to transform into a dividend-producing territory, lay in 
Northshire. They stretched seven miles along the banxs of the 
Bouldei*, and surrounded the town ot Boulderstone almost on every 
side. Near the town itself there were pleasant uplands, on which 
^graziers pastured their cattle, and where snug homesteads, with 
whitewashed fronts, shone in the sunlight. Looking back from the 
uplands the scene was one Iona gray expanse of moor flanked by 
the abrupt peaks of the hills' of a neighboring county. But all 
through it gleamed the steely water ot the Boulder, and here and 
there was a ridge of whiteness where the river fell over intercepting 
rocks. 


BOULDEKSTOXE. 


25 


Boulder&tone itself lay in a hollow at the foot of the uplands, and 
the smoke of its chiniuev's sometimes filled the valley when there 
was no wind stirring. The town was not laid out with much re- 
gard to architectural principles. Following the line of the river, 
which broadened as it reached the harbor bar, tnere was a series of 
substantial houses, in which the prosperous sons of the town dwelt 
with their wives and families. Each house, built of sandstone, had 
its garden sloping to the Boulder, the intervening walls being high 
or low according to the occupant’s taste for privac3^ Tropically it 
was the east end of the town, but it was the West End in gentility. 
Only timber merchants who had dealings with Norway, slate mer- 
chants who worked their own quarries, or large general dealers who 
supplied all the small shops in thetownlets of the county, were able 
to afford a house on the river-side. 

On the line of the shore where the sea broke upon a j^ellow ex- 
panse of sand at low tide, and against giant bowlders of rounde<l 
rock when the tide was full, there was a frontage of liumble houses 
belonging in part to the fisher-people, in part to the laborers who 
worked the slate-quarries. The body of the town was filled up by 
a market-place where the barter and sale of the Bouldeistone end of 
the county was conducted. Once a week it was crowded with carts, 
the unyoked horses feeding themselves between the trams; while 
the tanner, from among his produce in the body of the cart, offered 
ducks, hens, eggs, peat, pigs, and sometimes grain to the town pur- 
chasers. The market place was surrounded by the shops of Boul- 
derstone, and on one side rose the single building which had pillars 
in front: an imposing outside lounge of broad pavement, and an 
open door revealed Alights of steps leading to some place of public 
importance. It was the I'own Hall built b}’^ the late baronet. In 
its lower stories local justice was dispensed by the important per- 
sons who had risen to the coveted dignity of bailieship; its upper 
part was the hall where various authorities expounded detached 
fragments of the universe tor the benefit of those who liked lect- 
ures; one oft chamber of the hall contained the local museum of 
curiosities, including Jamaica nuts washed ashore by the Gulf 
Stream, fossil heads, tails, and backbones of fish, birds’ eggs, rock 
crystals, clubs from the South Seas presented by a district mis- 
sionary, idols from Egypt by “a traveler,” and what not. Oft the 
market-place branched various lanes, which, if followed far enough 
iu each direction, led to a church, of which Bouhierstone possessed 
no fewer than five. The Bouldeistone Church— the old Church of 
Scotland as well as of Boulderstone— stood on an eminence above the 
beach. There were times when the waves from the baj’’ assailed the 
walls of the church; and often enough the winds howled round it 
from the sea when good Mr. Petersen was lifting his voice over the 
pews. And in the midnight, when the horizon was delivering up 
its storms, the great bell in the tower sometimes rang without hands. 
At such times it was know'n that for a certainty some ships must be 
“ making” the cliffs or the beach, and the morning, with its record 
of strewn casks, timber, and masts, too often verified what the in- 
tonation of the bell had led wakened sleepers to expect. An acre 
round about the church contained Boulderstone’s dead, and very 
green the turf always w^as over llieir heads. The grave-yard was 


26 


BOULDERSTOisrE. 


overlooked on three sdes hy the upper windows of the poorer folk 
of the town. Someof them would point to the headstones that cov- 
ered their fathers and their fathers’ fathers before them, if they were 
so minded, and there came times of hardship when to be gathered 
beside these would have been a comfortable change for the better. 

Next to the parish church one of the most prominent points of 
Boulderstone was the place known as the “ Brae-heed.” it was a 
knuckle of shore which projected between the Boulder and the sea, 
a projection crowned with a flagstaff, behind which a shelter of 
whinstone, lined with seats, gave protection to such of the fisher- 
men and seamen at the river mouth as chose to occupy it. And a 
sprinkling of these were always there, scanning the distance, and 
making remarks appropriate to the meteorology of the hour. The 
Brae-heed w^as indeed the club and lounge of Boulderstone. For 
timber ships, which had made the river successfully, leaned their 
masts toward it from below, and the captains and mates, when 
there were pauses in their work, always knew they could clamber 
up to good, or at least disputatious, company. Tlie view from it 
was one that never failed to elicit approbation from people who 
looked out on it for the first time. 

Nor was their approbation without meaning, for the Bay of Boul- 
derstone had much to reward the eye. Looking across the Boulder 
lliver there is Boulderstone Castle, rising in grim-turreted strength 
from the very beach where the waves are playing. Looking out 
from the Boulder there is the bar, where the tumbling waves are al- 
ways hoar^, and on the very verge of them the salmon-fishers are 
standing m their cobles. To the extreme east there is the great 
headland of Dutton, with its trailing mantle of mist, through which 
the peak looms. In the west there is Sandstone fronting the Atlan- 
tic on a lowering mass of cliff, where the white churning of the sea 
is forever at work, and W'here the clouds of sea-birds hover all 
through the dreary seasons. Inside Sandstone Point is the village 
of Sandstone, and the quay, where once a week the steamboat 
pushes its gangways, and takes on board its cattle and wool and 
grain and slates for ” the South and between the village and Boul- 
derstone is the fringe of rocky shore, one part of it a cliff on which 
the Bishop’s Castle lends its old walls to the owls and the starlings. 

The town and Boulderstone Castle are permanently separated by 
the river; and though there is a bridge higher up which connects 
the town with the country, the castle holds its connection with the 
town by means of a ferry-boat. It is chained to the little wooden 
pier of Norwegian pine outside the wall of the castle garden, and 
when the ferry-man is not at the pier he is sitting in the kitchen of 
the “ Whale’s Head,” at the back of the brae, on the other side of 
the river, from w’^hich it sometimes requires an excessive amount 
of lusty hallooing to recall him from his dram to his duty. 

The factor’s people from the back of the castle and the grieve at 
the home farm have sometimes to trudge hy the bridge because the 
ferry-man will not respond; but the townspeople say his wages 
are so irregularly paid that he can’t be expected lb be regular. The 
ferry-man, besides, has other occupations. He is a grave-digger in 
the parish church-yard; and sometimes when they are hallooing for 
him on the shore of the river, he has just laid his spade at the foot 


BOULDEliSTOXE. 


27 


of the old cross in front of the church, and is wipinj^ th3 beads of 
perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, having pre- 
pared a grave in his own masterly manner for a neighbor,'"or a 
neighbor’s wife or child. 

Between the castle and the town the feudal relationship that once 
subsisted had rather broken down. Not that the Dutton family had 
lost an3dhing in the esteem and respect of the inhabitants of Boul- 
derstone. The castle had too long been a place of refuge for those 
who sought advice or assistance to have abandoned, even at the date 
of the events i am chronicling, its earlier reputation. There were 
inhabitants who remembered the grandfather of the present baronet 
— he who stood chiseled within the porch of the Town Hall— and 
the traditions of his generosity were still in the mouths of the old 
men. 1 he late baronet had few’er dealings w ith the town, but wdiat 
was known of him was all in favor of his kind-heartedness. As 
Boulderstone prospered in his absence, however, and between the 
factor’s office and the Town Council there sprung up feuds about 
lights of way and the incidence of rates, less affection, naturally, 
subsisted than in the olden days. If a baronet is to remain the idol 
of his community, he must give it the benefit of his presence, and 
make his presence felt from day to day in actions that reach down 
to the lowest hovels, else he must expect to be forgotten. It was, 
perhaps, the increasing prosperity of Boulderstone that had much 
to do with the slight alienation of the populace from tlie castle. 
“When the late baronet was a young man there was no row of sub- 
stantial villas by the river, at the window’s of which noses might 
flatten themselves as eager faces w’atched for the bowling of his car- 
riage on the other side. The row had sprung up as the town as- 
serted its pre-eminence in the county as a good port of call, a mod- 
erate fishing-center, and a place of slates. It was the conscious in- 
crease of their deposits in the bank, while rumors were going of the 
baronet’s poverty, which enabled them to enlarge their personalities 
with fat, to wear top-hats all the days of the week, and to feel an 
independence which might or might not develop into positive hos- 
tility, according to circumstances. Certain it was, however, that 
the over-lordship of the castle had its irritating side; and if it was 
to be toned down into active feudal friendship, the reappearance 
and cordiality of the ruling proprietor was necessary. Or, as the 
“ Weekly Buckie ” had it in one of its rousing and insin native arti- 
cles— “ The world is not alw'a3’8 going to stand still. Boulderstone 
is not always to be cap in hand to the castle. When the factor is 
master it is lime to let the landlord know’ that there is a public spirit 
among us. It is lime for him to learn, having come into his inher- 
itance young, that we, who are in some measure at his mercy, must 
have justice and fair dealing.” The '“Buckie” at the same time 
gave expression to an elaborate panegyric on the new Sir Neil Dut- 
ton. It constructed a Sir Neil on the pattern desired by the cdm- 
munity, and submitted him as the living lord of the Manor. 


28 


BOULDEliSTOi^E. 


CHAPTER yi. 

CAKOLINE. 

Lady Dutton did not find it convenient to leave her room at the 
Trmaciia the morning aftei it was agreed that there should be a trip 
to sea. Mr. Frazer expected to be busily engaged with a batch of 
telegrams to which he had to prepare the answers in the course of 
the forenoon, so he was considered to be occupied. It happened, 
therefore, that when a carriage drove to the door to take up the ex- 
ploring party there were only two to form it — Caroline Frazer and 
Sir Neil Dutton. It was scarcely seven o’clock yet, but all Palermo 
was stirring. Indeed the early morning is the only tolerable part of 
the day between sunrise and sunset in the capital oi Sicily, and good 
Palermitans who wish to buy their olives and sardines in a decent 
state of freshness, must repair to market before the heat of the fore- 
noon has turned the sellers on their faces to enjoy their day’s siesta. 
This morning, as the baronet handed the girl into the carriage, there 
was a cool breeze blowing from the sea, and a further sense of cool- 
ness was got by looking into the bay from the rushing of the boats 
hither and thither under their press of lateen sail. It counteracted 
the effect of the scintillating white walls and roots, and as the coach- 
man conducted them smartly within the shadow of the hill of Santa 
Rosalie, neither could have told from the cool morning temperature 
that there was a scorching sun to escape. 

“ 1 like to see cities in the early morning,” began Sir Neil to his 
companion, whose brown eyes, if he had examined them closely, he 
might have seen to be heavy and sleepy beneath their long lashes. 

“Yes,” said Miss Frazer, in an encouraging voice. “Why?” 

“ Well, because a city always gives the best account of itself just 
before breakfast— a southern city 1 mean. Look at tne faces we 
see now, and compare them with the faces you might see after sun- 
set in the same place. How fresh and honest and earnest they are! 
It is only the workers you see at this hour — the true Sicilian breed, 
who still carry Roman biood in their veins. Notr.man in that long 
string of carts, behind the poles of the oxen, but has a purpose and 
an intention for the day. And look at the peasant girls, how bright 
and smiling they are! Yes, show me a city in the egrly morning if 
you are to show me it when it is at its happiest.” 

Miss Frazer looked at the male peasants as she was directed, and 
thought them extremely handsome men ; privately she thought the 
black-eyed women impudentj but she kept the opinion to herself. - 

‘‘.But 1 liked the opera last night,” she said. 

“ The opera which none of us heard,” laughed the other. 

“ Yes; but 1 am sure the people were happy enough there.” 

“ Ha{)py, yes; you can’t make a Sicilian unhappy under any cir- 
cumstances. But there’s a difference between last night’e enjoyment 
of the opera and this. 1 can never reconcile myself to the Sicilian 
opera. 1 don’t talk of their native compbseis or their vocalists, but 
of the use they put their opera-house to. They go to it merely for 


BOULDEKSTOi^E. 


29 


the sake of making visits, and w ithout the slightest intention of list- 
ening to what is being sung. The result is that ihe opera is as poor 
as possible, however exhilarating the audience may be.” 

” Oh, but the visits they pay each other mal^e them dress so!” 

” True,” answered Sir Neil; ” and their dressing is superb, though 
it didn’t hinder the Sulphur Countess in the box next to us from 
tearing a whole sisterhood to rags on the opposite tier. Tearing 
them— not literally, ot course. But here we are at the Chapel Pal- 
atine; shall we go in?” 

” 1 should like to so much,” said Caroline, from whose eyes the 
breeze and the pungent odors from the orange groves had driven 
the first heaviness away. Sir Neil led the way through a lofty vest- 
ibule columned with Egyptian granite, and they presently stood 
gazing in upon the blazing splendor of mosaics with which the 
gilded walls were covered. 

” Oh myl it must be Roman Catholic,” Caroline whispered, as 
she saw tlie pictorial procession of saints in all attitudes between the 
vestibule and the apse. But Sir Neil had advanced a step or two 
into the church, and pointing to a seat with an arch whose pillar 
broke something of the gorgeous glow of the walls, they rested 
together. 

It must be a new place,” said Caroline, looking round in won- 
derment. 

” It was new about eight hundred years ago,” replied Sir Neil, 
smiling, ” and except these choir stalls in the distance there have 
been no renovations.” 

Whether it was the reflected glow from the mosaics or not, Caro- 
line at that moment blushed deeply as the baronet hastened to tell 
her that the mistake was readily enough made, the Chapel Palatine 
being the freshest specimen ot its style out of Constantinople. And 
it must be confessed the girl’s ignorance sat nicely upon her as she 
turned dark inquiring eyes upon her companion. 

” It’s always delightful,” said be,- ” to come to a place like this, 
with a perfectl.y fresh visitor. You have hit off just the sort of 
astonishment j^ou ought to feel by saying the place is new. I don't 
think any criticism could better bring out the impression of its brill- 
iant glow.” 

Caroline concluded she had said something a little clever, and re- 
covered herself immediately. 

” But it’s a Roman Catholic church,” she was encouraged to add. 

‘‘ Why, of course it is. Eight hundred years ago the Protestants 
hadn’t come up, you know.” 

” Where were they?” 

Sir Neil look as grave as he could under the circumstances, and 
being recently come from Rome, where all the ladies he had met 
knew the ’ologies, and were prepared to discuss anything with a cer- 
tain amount of knowledge, he found in tlie absolute ignorance of 
the girl at his side a charm which attracted him. ”1 fancy,’' he 
said, playfully, ” they must all have been in Scotland; though that 
isn’t good history,” he explained, as he saw his companion settling 
down comfortably under the impression. 

At that moment the notes of an organ began to swell through the 
church, and Caroline seemed involuntarily to move closer to him < n 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


30 

the marble slab. She was very neat and dainty- the little woman 
robed in her tight, white, embroidered sateen, and bending her head 
to listen to the penetrating strains of the organ; there was a softness 
and sweetness of expression in the ruddy, parted lips that did not 
escape the eye of her companion, 

“ It is a Sicilian bridal hymn,” said Sir Neil, when the strains 
had died away in the dome; and Caroline gave a little start at his 
side, which in turn did not escape him. 

“ Before the sun is too hot 1 think we might go up on the roof of 
the observatory.” Saying so the baronet rose, and the pair w^alked 
under the great fretted dome of the I'alatine through a further 
court, from which they ascended through obscure staircases. 

” Do you like wide views. Miss Frazer?” asked her companion, 
as they stepped out upon a tower, from which the sea and all the 
distant islands, and Palermo at their feet, were visible. 

” I am so afraid I’ll be giddy, 1 can scarcely look round.” said 
Caroline, suddenly, as they emerged on the roof, and the great ex- 
panse of trembling azure open('d at their feet. 

” Cling to me;” and the baronet held his arm out to his com- 
panion, wlio very literally obeyed him. 

” Tell me when you have had too much of it,” said he, softly, 
looking down at her. The feeling will go oft as you look out.” 

Caroline made no reply, but retained her hold upon her com- 
panion’s arm, as he went on saying, 

” 1 think there’s nothing quite like this prospect in Europe, and 
]’ve made a point of climbing to all the pinnacles of the cities I’ve 
visited. St. Paul’s only gives you a mass of fog, with a stream 
^ gleaming through it. Notre Dame would be magnificent if the 
suburbs of Paris were more characteristic. The campanile of St. 
Mark’s shows you an expanse of islands and the Adriatic beyond 
them. But this is unique. AYith the curve of the shore, the high 
guarding cliff of Monte Pellegrino, the greenery of the orange 
groves, and the line of whiteness where the waves are breaking, 1 
know nothing to compare to it.” 

They stood in silence for some minutes, and through the arcades 
and the staircases the Sicilian bridal hymn stole upon them. 

” The marriage hymn again,” said Sir Neil; ” Hike it even better 
coining through the arcades than 1 did under the dome.” 

“ XV hat a nice hj'-mn it is!” said Caroline, regaining her voice, 
and looking up at Sir Neil with sparkling eyes. 

” And what a prospect!” he rejoined, stepping slowly nearer the 
edge of the roof. ” Look down, and you can see the yacht lying 
off the Marina. Where shall we be in a week? 1 can assure you I 
hope to enjoy myself as 1 haven’t done for years.” 

The young man spoke the truth, too, for he had certainly enjoyed 
the two hours of Caroline’s companionship amazingly. She had 
very little to say, il is true, and what she did say was not brilliant. 

But it was different from what Sii Neil Dutton had been accus- 
tomed to in his intercourse with young ladies up to that date. 
Within his acquaintanceship he had never numbered any girl who 
entered a church eight hundred years old, and who thought it must 
be new, or who wondered where the Protestants were about the 
date of the Norman Conquest. Under some circumstances such 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


31 


conlessions might have seemed to him an oiiensive kind of ignor- 
ance; but when the girl who made them was the simple, fresh, 
flower-like beaut}’' that hung upon his arm and looked timidly into 
the bay, it was only nai've. 

“ She’s a true Scottish maid,” he told himself; ” gentle, canny, 
sweet.” 

Before they returned to their carriage he was interested in her; 
when they sat down to dejeuner in the Trinacria, and when they 
told the story of the bridal music in the Chapel Palatine to Lady 
Dutton and Mr, Frazer, there were very pleasant glances inter- 
changed. Only the dowager, before taking refuge from the mid- 
day heat in the coolness ot her own pillared chamber, thought it 
necessary to send for her son and say to him, 

” My dear Neil, 1 can not have you falling in love with Caroline; 
she is quite a school-girl. You must reserve your affections tor an- 
other time. 1 like Caroline — she is clever and quiet and kind— but 
I will not have her for a daughter. 1 have no fault to find with 
her family. The Frazers are as old as the Dutlons; and though 
Mr. Frazer is called a new man by some people, he is only new in 
the sense that his branch of the family has dropped out of sight for 
a generation or two. It has been his lot to make it one of the rich- 
est names in Scotland. Yet 1 shall expect you to consult my wishes, 
Neil, and not tall precipitately in love.” 

” Are you quite done, mother?” asked Sir Neil, smiling. 

‘‘ It depends upon what you have to say, son.” 

” 1 have nothing to say, except that if marriage were in my mind, 
which it isn’t, 1 should like just such a sweet, simple wife as your 
Caroline would make.” 

Lady Dutton turned aside to conceal a look of triumph, but when 
she glanced back in her son’s face it was with imperturbable cool- 
ness that she announced to him that he must on no account think 
of marrying Caroline Frazer. Ladv Dutton understood the law of 
contraries, and, as her son retired, she knew that her injunctions 
would have the effect of making him think very closely of the sub- 
ject she had banned. 


chapter Vll. 

CHARLES FRAZER. 

It was no accident that brought Mr. Frazer cruising to Sicily. 
He was too busy a man to allow himself a luxurious southern hol- 
iday, as if he had been a mere lord, deriving a certain income from 
his lands in halt a dozen English and Scotch counties. When his 
steamboat sailed into the Bay of Palermo he had just completed a 
survey of the southern portion of the island wdth th3 object of 
verifying some reports about the existence of copper. He had 
landed at Syracuse, Catania, Girgenli, and some smaller ports; and 
though tne remains of half a dozen civilizations solicited his at- 
tention on every hand, he had the fortitude to ignore them. If 
the fluted pillars of the temples of Jupiter, the Doric columns of 
the shrines ot Venus, had represented some exchangeable value 
connected with his trip, he wmuld have conscientiously set himself 


BOULDERSTONE. 


32 

to study them. As they stood, however, or reclined upon the 
parched slopes ot the Sicilian shores, they were only bits of extinct 
masonry for him. He was there because ot the renowned supply 
ot copper: it was to the subject of copper that he seriously devoted 
himselt; and he brought away with him from several districts what 
he hoped to make the foundation of a circular which would rouse 
the cupidity of the investing public and reward him tor the un- 
wonted troubles ot exploration. He had originally no intention of 
calling at Palermo at all— it did not promise to further the busi- 
ness he had in hand at the moment; but at Catania his daughter 
liad got a letter from Lady Duttoi>, then residing in the Trinaeria 
Hotel, which induced him to go there rather than to Marseilles, 
whence he had proposed to return to London and Scotland. It had 
been Caroline’s fortune to meet Lady Dutton during the spring of 
the 5^ear at Mentone, when her ladyship was waiting upon her hus- 
band’s recovery. Instead of recovering, her husband died; but 
previous to that occurrence, Caroline Frazer had been by the 
purest accident thrown a good deal into Lady Dutton’s society^ The 
girl was quiet, and commanded a large purse; at the table d’Mte she 
showed a becoming respect for her ladyship’s title when she chose 
to air its importance among the untitled diners at the same board, 
and when Lady Dutton was weary of her poor husband’s ailments 
she frequently took refuge in Caroline’s sitting-room, and fell 
asleep on one of her lounges. 

Caroline was in charge of an aunt who — a plain little Scotch- 
woman-kept Judiciously in the background, having an awe ot a 
title that gave Lady Dutton a high opinion of her judgment. Once 
or twice, having met Lady Dutton in the corridor of the hotel, she 
had courtesied to her in the lowliest manner and called her 
“mem.” Caroline knew better, being bred at a boarding-school 
at Brighton at a cost of three hundred a year. But though she 
neither courtesied nor said “ mem,” she had been keenly alive to 
the fact that Lady Dutton was of another social order from her own, 
which order she perfectly w^ell understood she must yet have more 
extensive dealings with. It is doubtful, however, whether Lady 
Dutton and Caroline would have cemented a friendship had it not 
been for one taste they had in common. Each of them loved Curapoa 
. and the allied liquors. It was, in truth, that Caroline, under her 
aunt’s watchful care, might be broken of an awkward habit of 
drinking Maraschino, mingled with thimblefuls of brandy, that 
she had been sent to Mentone by her father. Before she had met 
Lady Dutton the habit had more than once revealed her in an ab- 
surd or unamiable light to her father’s acquaintances. As she had 
the best sitting-room in the hotel and the nicest lounges, Ladj’’ 
Dutton found it highly convenient, when exhaustad by protracted 
attendance on her husband, to sip her liqueurs in her little friend’s 
company, and to lounge on her sofas without criticising her. And 
later on, old Sir Neil being dead, her ladyship discovered that the 
Caroline Frazer of her acquaintance was daughter to a Mr. Frazer 
whom the lawyer in Edinburgh alluded to in more than one of his 
letters as having had dealings with the deceased baronet. The nat- 
ure of the dealings Lady Dutton did not inquire too freely into, 
only she kept the name of Mr. Frazer from her son, whose surprise 


BOULDERSTONE. 


33 


at the condition of poveity to which they seemed to have been re- 
duced at one blow needed tender dealing. Having discovered the 
business connection that existed between them, Lady Dutton kept 
corresponding from Mentone, while Caroline w^as in Switzerland 
and the T3W0I; and the last move her ladyship had made from 
Rome to Palermo was due lo the fact that she expected Caroline to 
persuade her father to bring his yacht there and stay. Having 
learned to within a tew thousand pounds the amount of money 
that would come to her little friend as heiress, her plans for a mar- 
riage were laid before her own weeds had lost the flavor of the 
shop. Caroline was to marry her son and bring him her great fort- 
une, and she was to retire upon the competence which would accrue 
from the transaction. About that Lady Dutton swiftl}’’ decided; 
and being a woman who knew how to combine means and ends, she 
was actually successful in bringing Mr. Frazer to Palermo, and in 
throwing her son and his daughter into each other’s society. 

It so happened that what would suit Lady Dutton wmuld suit Mr. 
Frazer also. His daughter had given liim a good deal of anxiety 
in her time, and he had become conscious ot late that certain 
schemes of alliance with aristocratic families he had planned for 
her might be broken down by her own thoughtless love for 
palatable drinks. The first time his eyes had opened to that dis- 
agreeable truth w^as when his daugliter was returned upon his hands 
from her fashionable Brighton school, while a letter explained to 
him, in cruel angular hand, “ that Miss Frazer being thrice detected 
in a state no young lady should be in from overindulgence in 
stimulants, she was deemed unfit to remain in the society of the 
boarders at Westcliffe Seminary.” Mr. Frazer, with his strong be- 
lief in the power of money, instantly forwarded a check for a con- 
siderable amount to the proprietress of the school, and urged them 
to overlook what, in a 3’^ouug girl, must obviously have been the 
merest accident. But the Brighton proprietresses returned him 
his check, with the cuit announcement that the3’’ were not open to 
bribery. Next day Caroline was brought home, and ever after a 
steady watch was kept upon her in order to check what there was 
some reason to think was hereditary on the mother’s side. And 
Caroline was still so young, so fresh and strong, that after a year’s 
residence with her father he hoped the best for the passing away 
of the temptation. 

]\Ii. Frazer might himself have made the aristocratic alliance 
that he wished for his daughter, for he was a reputed millionaire 
and was not 5'et fifty-five. Nor had his financial dealings 
liim lean or ill-favored in any way. fie was a small man, but 
tightly built, with a massive head, surmounted by a brow of in- 
ordinate width. His mouth, which he generally kept closed wiien 
he did not require to use it, shut firmly, so as to show lines on each 
side of it. His eyes were inexpressive gray eyes, with a dash of 
green in them; and they would not have'been unpleasant had it not 
been for his manner of using them. lie rarely used them tor a 
straight forw’ard glance, yet he saw clearly in his own furtive way. 
Those w'ho had every-day dealings with him averred that he had 
eyes “ in the back of his head.” He certainly might have married 
high had he cared about it, for he was a presentable man enough. 

2 


34 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


He was in a manner, however, a misogynist where his own flesh 
and blood were not concerned, and ho regarded women as “ fools 
mostly,” that men were better to have as few dealings with as pos- 
sible. For his own part he limited his dealings with them to the 
companionship of his daughter, or to giving necessary orders to his 
servants. Marriage was the last thing he looked forward to for 
himself, his own wife having left his mind full of bitterness toward 
the sex. It was currently said of Mr, Frazer that his success in 
life was due to his limited affections. Whether that was the ex- 
planation of it or not, it is certain that lor five and-twtnty .years he 
had prospered in eveiything he undertook, and he undertook more 
than most men in the business world of Scotland. 

Few could count the irons that Charles Frazer had in the fire, but 
everybody knew that he would either withdraw them hot enough 
for his puroose, or pass them on, if they had cooled, at a consider- 
able profit to himself, to some other peison. It could not be said 
of him that all the schemes he was connected with succeeded, but 
they invariably succeeded for him. He had the instinct which re- 
sponded to every public fluctuation; so it turned out that compa- 
nies which had beggared oilier men enriched Charles Frazer. His 
acquaintanceship among men of all kinds w’as wide, and he w'as 
believed, not always wTongly, to ” be behind the scenes.” He liked 
the reputation of being a “wirepuller,” for it gave him power. 
And a wire-puller he w’^as in the strictest sense of the term, being 
a member of more than one of the prominent political clubs in Lon- 
don and Scotland, and presumably interested in every election 
which took place north of the Tweed. Had he been pressed to give 
an account of his politics on a public platform, he would have been 
put to it to define them, for he was no speaker. Privately, how- 
ever, he had observed that Tory governments are generally in pow’er 
during periods of commercial depression, and, as he abhorred de- 
pressions, he followed “ Liberalism ” by business instinct. Kot that 
he always read the speeches of the leaders of his part3’^--he w’as ton 
preoccupied a man to do that; but in all other ways he was loyal to 
his party, and spent large sums of money on it, and he even had 
dreams of his own that before he died he might “ have a handle 
to his name.” These dreams did not hinder him from being de- 
scribed as a Padical. Mr. F'razer had several residences, but his 
habitual residence was Edinburgh. He found it convenient to 
withdraw from the West End of Glasgow and to establish himself 
tbe West End ot Edinburgh, where his forturie had become so 
colossal that a small amount of personal supervision served to keep 
that part ot it together which w'as at stake in Glasgow. He thought 
Edinburgh society suited him better than society'’ in Glasgow, where 
his every-day doings were more minutely known, and where he be- 
lieved he detected caustic allusions to himself at most ot the dinner- 
tables he attended. The flavor he liked iniported into dinner-table- 
talk was that of the Church, and he got as much ecclesiasticisiu 
as he could stand from the clergy which swarmed into the cap- 
house, indeed, "was an open hostelry to the clergy both ot 
the Free arid L. P. churches, scores of whom during the year de- 
posited their black bags at his door to ring the bell and usher them- 
selves into his dining-room. His ecclesiastical predilections were 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


35 


so strong that his butler had been the beadle of a deceased doctor ot 
divinity in London, who had a wonderful knowledge of wines; 
and his footman had in early life been apprenticed to a maker of 
pulpit-gowns. But the latter circumstance was probably acci- 
dental. It is certain, however, that he never engaged a coachman 
without knowing liow many communions he had attended; and the 
female servants were led to understand that on Sabbath evenings 
they might be “catechised” if any reverend guest felt thus in- 
clined. Why Charles Frazer should addict himself so strongly to 
the Church it is not easy to say. "No one ever accused him of im- 
porting Christian principles into his business. His own feeling, 
probably, was that some clergymen were “behind the scenes ” in 
one or two questions which he had neither time nor inclination to 
probe. Perhaps he liked the additional power it gave him by estab- 
lishing his character for Christianity. On the one occasion when 
he sat in the Free Assembly he certainly enjoyed the loud outbursts 
of ecclesiastical applause which greeted his entrance among “ the 
fathers and brethren.” It was more than compensation to him for 
the many thousands he had expended on spires and foundations. 
He felt for a moment that what must be admirable in the opinion 
ot that white sea of immaculate linen and baldness must be admi- 
rable in the eye ot high Heaven. That very night he put the price 
ot the shares of a collapsed shale company, from which he had 
providentially withdrawn in time, at the disposal ot a sustentation 
fund, a committee tor missionary purposes, and a committee for col- 
lege bursaries. 

In everything he had been successful except his daughter — his 
sole surviving child. But Providence seemed to him now to have 
opened up a way. He had long wanted a baronet as a son-in-law, 
nnd here was one in all respects suitable at his feet. 


CHAPTER \111. 

AT SEA. 

By the time Lady Dutton was ready to go on board the yacht, 
lier son had showm Caroline all that was to be remembered in Pal- 
ermo. He had lounged with her among the sycamores of the 
“ King's Gardens,” and led her to the foot of many an undulaling 
nympli in marble, many a muscular torse of a god on its renovated 
pedestal. He had been to the Ziza with her, and looked at the fish 
crowding in golden confusion among the leaves of papyrus wiiicli 
encircled the basin where the Arabian emirs once washed {hemselves. 
“ It was all Arab at one time,” he explained to her, “ and this place 
has lasted through the centuries to prove that the northerners are 
better stuff than the southerners; for long after the Arabs w’ere done 
ruling the island the Normans made them build walls and houses 
and palaces for them.” 

To which Caroline, caring nothing about the Arabs, and perhaps 
less for the Normans, responded by looks of intelligence and in 
terest that more than satisfied the baronet. He did not ask more 
from her than that she should see Palermo with admiring eyes, and 


36 


BOULDEESTONE. 


know it through his description of it. One day they went into 
some private gardens, the Sicilian nobility being only loo glad to 
levy a Iranc upon strangers for the privilege of admiring their noble 
horticulture; they passed beneath an avenue of sycamores which 
had cast their leaves upon the walk. At the end of the walk there 
was a summer-house of woven beech-work, to enter which they 
would have to descend one or two steps. 

“Shall we go in?” asked Sir Neil; “it seems tempting;” and 
Caroline, pushing laughingly forward, thrust the door ajar. But 
with an exclamation of horror she fell back upon her companion. 
Sir Neil looKcd in.over her head. 

“ I wonder what made the Italians do that,” he said, leading her 
rapidly into the sunshine, for she was pale and trembling. 

“ I can’t conceive what they should build a lonely summer-house 
for, and put a bare-boned skeleton in it. It must mean something, 
but 1 can’t tell what.” 

They went into no more gardens after that. And, indeed, going 
up the j\Jonte Pellegrino one morning together, an incident occurred 
that would have made an end of all sauntering had the time not 
come for yachting. Sir Neil was anxious that they should get up 
to the grotto of St. Rosalia, the child-saint, who lies sculptured in 
marble within a shrine of rock, and whose spirit is still invoked by 
thousands of the people in the place. 

He was telling the sacred history of the child Caroline, as they 
wound up the steep, rocky road, when a bright green snake darted 
from side to side, unable to make its escape. Caroline grew livid 
with terror, and before the reptile had time to disappear she had 
fainted in Sir Neil’s arms. They were close by the grotto at the 
time, so lifting her he carried her safely within its shado w, a dark-eyed 
tonsured monk coming forward with wine and water to restore her. 
As the baronet bore her into the grotto, and her brown hair touched 
his cheek, he began to feel a strong sense of compassion for the 
light, fragile creature who had lost consciousness merely at the sight 
of a harmless snake. He was used to them himself, and could not 
understand the effect of their sudden appearance on others. As he 
laid her down near the shrine, he looked involuntarily from the 
marble St. Rosalia to the pale cheeks and ruddy lips of the inani- 
mate girl. The priest looked too, and made the sign of the cross 
with some agitation, for there was a resemblance. Sir Neil was not 
superstitious, but it flashed on him that Caroline must have a saint- 
lier nature than he had imagined. 

It was with a new kind of respect, therefore, that he led her, on 
her recovery, to the carriage at the foot of the hill. Was she not 
of the flesh aod blood that men deified and prayed to for genera- 
tions? 

IVlr. Frazer’s yacht, or rather the yacht that Mr. Frazer sailed, for 
he had hired it at Marseilles from a young nobleman of Irish extrac- 
tion whose remittances had somev\diat suddenly come to an end, 
was a very elegant, _ roomy, strong little ship of her calibre. She 
went fifteen knots in steam, and ^as many under canvas when the 
wind was with her. There was accommodation not only for Lady 
Dutton but for her maid, Caroline’s old Scotch aunt being privately 
sent to a berth amidships to make room for the latter personage. 


BOULDEllSTOKE. 


37 


Sir Neil got the captain’s room, that officer being reduced to the 
first mate’s, his room being for some reason the largest on board. 
Mr. Frazer had a cabin to himself, not quite so large as that 
assigned to the baronet. The general cabin was fitted up with oak 
panelings, and the quantity of gilded mirrors was kept in harmony 
with the plain strength of the remainder of the fittings. As they 
steamed out of the harbor of Palermo, and the Sicilian hills were 
becoming fainter and fainter to the view, the baronet and the cap- 
italist sat chatting together at the cabin skylight. The ladies were 
afraid of the motion, and for aesthetic reasons preferred to keep to 
their berths until they had got their " sea-lejis.” 

“ What makes you IhinR Carry is of a very sensitive nature?” 
Mr. Frazer was asking his companion. 

“ That episode on Monte Pellegrino.” 

” What episode?” 

Mr. Frazer knew It, but was not unwilling to hear it ajain from 
the lips of Sir Neil. 

” Why, hasn’t she told you? When we were going to the shrine 
of St. Rosalia a little green snake darted out on the road, and Miss 
Frazer fainted. 1 carried her in:o the shrine, where the priest 
fetched some wine and water. For some moments she was like 
marble; and, strangely enough, the priest said like the marble statue 
of St. Rosalia. 1 saw the resemblance myself. It was striking. ” 
And Sir Neil looked wistfully to the fading summit of Pellegrino, 
in the cavern of which the marble saint reposed. Then he thought 
of the living image of the saint down-stairs, and sighed. 

Mr. Frazer seemed to detect the train of ideas in Sir Neil’s mind, 
for eying him with his furtive glance he smiled and looked pleased. 

The little steamer was behaving admirably in a considerable sea, 
but the spray beginning to make breaches over her bows, and show- 
ers of it coming aft to where 'the two men stood, they made their 
way inside the deck-house, still facing Sicily as they sat. 

” You have never done anything on the foreign Bourses?” said 
Mr. Frazer, suddenly. 

” On tiie Bourses? No; 1 know nothing at all of them by per- 
son^il experience.” 

” But you know a good many people in the French and German 
embassies, 1 suopose?” 

” Yes, in Paris 1 used to know them all-in Vienna too. Why 
do you ask?” 

Because we generally observe that the members of the embassies^ 
come home either with respectable fortunes or in a state of povert}’’, 
and we attribute the circumstances to the use of early information 
on the Bourse.” 

“lam quite sure none of my friends ever made such a base use 
of their knowledge.” 

Mr. Frazer was silent a moment, but began again. 

” Y"oii have no conscientious scruples, I suppose, against Bourse 
transactions. You would not deny that fortunes may be made 
there quite honorably?” 

” 1 should be a fool tD deny that. Many of my friends have en- 
riched themselves there; and about their honor there is not the 
slightest doubt.” 


BOULDERSTONE. 


38 

“ No, to be sure not,” said 3lr. Frazer, as if he were relieved of 
a heavy load. “1 was afiaid,” he continued— and he really w’as 
atraid, for his wreck’s converse with the young man had shown him 
a stubborn man ot honor on points he had not formerly known that 
honor existed—” 1 was afraid you might have scruples with regard 
to all stock-exchange transactions. Now, my visit to bicily has not 
been for nothing, 1 may say, for the pleasure 1 have had in your so« 
ciety, and in the society of Lady Dutton. But in addition to that 
pleasure, 1 may say 1 have had some very profitable business. We 
have had engineers’ reports in our hands in (Glasgow for some time 
anent copper ore in the district of Girgenti. 1 have gone over the 
ground myself, and have been able to testify to the truth of the 
original reports, and 1 expect by this time the ‘ Copper Company, 
Limited,’ is already launched.” 

” That’s surely quick work.” 

” Well, the company was formed, you see, before 1 came out to 
Sicily at all. It only required my finishing touch to be telegraphed. 
But the shares are not all assigned, and 1 want you to hold tor a 
few weeks four or five thousand pounds’ worth. It will refund 
you, you understand.” 

” ITou know, however, that I have nothing to buy with at pres- 
ent. What I have 1 ow^e entirely to your own kindness and belief 
in the power of my estates to get into a paying way again.” 

*' You have nothing to do but to hold them,” was the reply. 

Your banker will tell you when they have changed hands;” and 
at that juncture Mr. Frazer, professing to be a little tired, betook 
himself to his cabin. 

Sir Neil was left with the deck to himself,' and as he paced from 
wheel to taffrail he cast up the events ot the last few months. His 
father was gone, and he was to be no longer a wanderer. With his 
father’s death came responsibilities — Heaven knew, such a load of 
them as he never had reason to look forward to. How the nature 
of them gradually became apparent to him in Mentone, where he 
had buried his father; in Florence and Rome, where lie had taken 
his mother away from the painful scene of the death; in Palermo, 
where — in dear Palermo he thought, turning to the south. Why 
did he call it dear Palermo? Why did he murmur to himself Santa 
Rosalia, as he looked down the leaden steps of the cabin staircase? 
And in the midst ot the throb ot ecstasy which visited his heart, 
why did his lips repeat mechanicall}’, “You have nothing to do 
but to hold them. Your banker will tell you when they have 
changed hands.” 

As he looked out over the darkening sea, from whose surface the 
sun had withdrawn his saftron light, there was a conflict of feeling 
going on within him. He was overwhelmed with gratitude to the 
man who had shown him a way out of difficulties which, but a 
short time ago had seemed hopeless. But was it all gratitude? He 
was grateful, but he was something more. He leaned his arm on 
the deck-house and looked to the south, star after star springing into 
view upon the blue horizon as he gazed. It was not enough that 
he should see that glory of the heavens himself. There should be 
a companion to share it with him; and he turned to pace the deck 
again. 


bouli)£ksto:n^e. 


39 


“ Santa Rosalia!” he exclaimed, stopping himself, as he thought 
his footsteps might raise a certain sleeper beneath him. The sleeper 
was not his mother, nor his mother's maid. Again he leaned oa 
the deck house, and looked out over the sea. There were lanes of 
starlight between him and the south, and as he looked upward he 
saw that the sky was sown with stars. But now he saw neither sea nor 
stars nor sky — only an oval face with dark eyes and ruddy lips, as 
it smiled on him in the Palatine Chapel, as it faded into uncon- 
sciousness in the grotto on Pellegrino, as it seemed horror-stricken 
among the sycamores of the King’s Gardens. Yet be could not cast 
up a score of words that had fallen from her, She had been almost 
silent since he met her, but such a silence of eloquent looks! 

That night the midnight watch obsertred that “his lordship” 
was much upon the deck; for one reason or another, he did not 
close an eye until the morning light had revisited the sea. 


CHAPTER IX. 

AT THE BRAE-HEAD. 

Ei.even o’clock in the forenoon usually saw the Brae-head of 
Boulderstone with its full complement of visitors. The cross- 
shaped shed to which they repaired had accommodation for facing 
north, east, or west; and the particular nook which they affected 
depended entirely upon the weather. When it blew from the north 
they chose the seat and the side from which they commanded the 
river and the castle; ^^hen from the east, they took the seat wdiich 
fronted the bay toward Sandstone, the cliffs and the light-house; 
when from the west, they looked right out to the bay and the wild 
Atlantic beyond, over the line of breakers falling upon the bar. 

‘‘IVlak’ room for Faither Dykes,” said a cheerful, broad-limbed 
fisherman one forenoon to the assembled group of hairy, weather- 
beaten men who with hands in pockets and pipes in mouths, wei*e 
stolidly gazing in front of them. 

F'ather Dykes was a venerable figure with a stick, who was slowly 
coming down the Brae-head to the place of outlook. He paused 
frequently on the way down to recover his breath, and when at last 
he reached the center of the group, he let himself drop into the space 
made for him with a ” Deck, laddies, it’s a’ awa’ wi’ it!” He sat 
there breathing hard through his nostrils, the puckers in his tanned 
cheeks drawn tight with the firm closing of his mouth. 

” The banker’ll no’ do’t, 1 tell you, Sandy Trail. He’ll no’ gie 
money without valoo for it,' an’ he says there’s nae security guid 
eneuch for the price of sax boats in a’ the Fisher Biggins. It’s as 
muckle’s his place is worth to gie’t.” 

The speaker was a ruddy specimen of his class, strong and well 
built. He had just suggested that room should be made for the old 
man who joined the group. 

” ril warran’ it’s the storrum ye’re at,” said Faither Dykes, half 
turning his gray eye on the speaker— a w'onderful gray eye for fresh- 
ness of color, seeing that the owner of it had passed his eightieth 
year. 


BOULDERSTONB. 


40 

“ ’Deed is’t, tather,” said another of the company; “ what ither 
thing wad ye hae in our heeds? If we canna get the storrum’s wark 
mended we’ll hae a gae sair winter.” 

” I’m some thinkin’ ye had yersels tae blame that got yer boaties 
wracked that nicht,” piped the faither in reply. ” Ye suld a’ hae 
been ower the Crook at yer lines.” 

” Man, faither, ye’re gettin’ blin’, an’ canna tell a storrum frae a 
cawm,” said a fisherman, irritably. 

“ Keep a civil tongue in yer head, Jock Smith. I’m no that deef 
but whit yer impidence can gang through ma lugs. Storrum!” re- 
peated the faither, contemptuously, “yer gutchers an’ me has been 
ower the Crook oorsels in waur wather than you, an’ at the lines a’ 
nicht. Fac’, I’m thinkin’ the wather’s changin’ a’thegither this twa 
three dizen years. It is changin’, for I’ve seen the mornin’ that we 
wad get up after a storrum, an’ there wad be nae beach for timmer. 
Frae the Brae-heed tae the Rock Wall it was jist a’ ae confusion o’ 
broken ships. Whaur did Maister Kidd get his fortune, think 3’e? 
Oot o’ copper bolts frae the wrackage, Nooadays there’s nae 
wrackage but yer ain boats.” 

“Faither Dykes gat up on his wrang side this mornin’,” observed a 
fisherman standing out from the group, with a spy-glass in his hand. 

“ He hasna had his mornin’ yet,” responded another. 

“ Storrums,” continued the old man, ignoring the frivolities of his 
juniors, “ye micht hae counted the corpses by the dizzen wi’ all the 
wracks that wison't; Imak’ nae dootwhitiver but what the wather’s 
fa’n an’ the sea’s growin’ cawmer. There was a maytrologist ance 
told me oor cleemat wis ga’n doon. Lads, I’ve seed a win’ blawdn’ 
that a cannon-ba’ wadna gang through’!.” . 

“ Lord, faither, did it not blaw ye off a’thegither, an’ ye nae that 
big nayther?” asked the first spokesman, good humor breaking out 
all over his countenance. 

“ Na, faith, graivity keepitme t’ the grun’, an’ it’s a muckle win’ 
- lhat’ll coup graivity. But gin the mune’s gae’n whustlin’ awa’.tae 
the sun, maybe graivity’s gaun wi’t, and that’s the raison 0’ yer* bit 
blaws o’ win’ bein’ ca’d a storrum nooadays.” 

“ Graivity or no graivity, Faither Dykes, it’s weel kent that ye 
hiv yer sons i’ the Sooth that’ll no lat ye want for nothin’; but 
there’s sax boat-lod o’ us in the toon o’ Bouldeistone that canna 
mak’ anither penny till we get boats, an’ there’s no as muckle money 
as the banker says, in the biggins as’ll buy them.” 

“ Three 0’ the ministers has been doon i’ the biggins, an' they a’ 
say the same thing,” remarked a dolorous, shaven man. 

“ What’s that” asked Faither Dykes. ' 

“ Pray on oor bended knees.” 

“ Oo, ay,” said the faither, “ that’s aye their way. Did they say 
that ye were to pray that the banker’s hard hert micht saftenV” 

“ Whist, faither, an auld manlike ye should ken belter than mak’ 
a feel o’ prayin’,” said the dolorous man, who was a deacon over 
halt a dozen sisters and brothers who assembled on Baptist principles 
in a store-room each Sunday to pray for the rest of their fellow- 
townsmen. 

“ It’s no’ the prayin’,” said the old man, who had got along all 
his days as a sincere heathen. “ 1 never heard of ony man bein’ the 


BOULDEUSTONE. 


41 


waur o’ that, if it wasna that the knees o’ his breeks needed mair 
mendin’ than ither fowks’. But prayin'll no pay the rents if ye 
dinna catch fish." 

“Ay, weel, talk aboot rents; what think ye o’ Cap’n Jansen noo?" 
asked the man with the spy-glass. “ He’s no gaun to tak’ a single 
faiclen o' rent the year.” 

“ He’s a richt gude fallow the cap’n,” said Faither Dykes, and 
at that moment the captain turned the corner of the outlook. 

“ JMornin’, lads,” was his salutation in a brisk tone. 

“ Mornin’, cap’n,” responded halt a dozen voices. 

“ West-no’-west,” said the captain, as if he had just come on 
deck, snifliDg the wind from the sea, and taking a view of the broken 
tops of the waves in the bay. 

“ VVest-nor’-west, sir,” repeated the man with the spy-glass. 

“ Who’s in luck this morning— Sandstone or the river?” 

“ Sandstone again, cap’n. Geordie Inkster says the}' sent a boat 
aft tae bark goin’ east, and a pilot was ta’en. It’ll be twa three 
pounds tae them. It’s that Magnus. He has an eye like a hawk, 
and win’s or wather’s naethin’ t’m.” 

“ There’s a chance for Boulderstone, ” said the captain, sudden- 
ly; “ foresail, jib, square-sail — 1,500 tons it she's a pound, and a full- 
rigged ship, too. Away you go, boys.” 

As the captain spoke a large vessel was seen outside Dutton Head, 
flyiug ihe pilot’s flag, and in a twinkling three of the young men, 
followed by an elder, were scampering down the beach. 'Ten minutes 
had not intervened between the sighting of the ship and the spread- 
ing of a brown sail at the bar of the river. 

“ Deil hae’t, but .they’ll lose her,” said Faither Dykes; “ what’s 
that but ane o’ thae Sandstone boats makin’ oot frae beneath the 
licht-hoose.” 

It was true. The Sandstonejiieft wiUl a. Strong pressure of canvas 
were tearing through the-bay” toward the vessel. 

“To Ihiuk o’ Faither Dykes pickin’ oot Iboats like that!” re- 
marked a contemplative man, who kept his interest in the racing 
well under restraint. As for the rest of the Brae- head, it presented 
a scene of the greatest animation. Captain Jansen, with his hapd 
on the flag-staff and a brier-root pipe between his teeth, was quietly 
determining which was to be the winner of the prize. 

“ Kirsty, it’s three pounds in your pocket,” said a youth, whose 
individuality w'as lost in a gigantic sou’-w'ester of yellow, to an 
elderly woman with a hard, screwed-up countenance, who was now 
watching eagerly on the outside of the male group. 

“ Gae wa’ wi’ your havers,” responded Kirsty, as if she had been 
interrupted at her devotions. 

The boats were about an equal distance from the ship, and as the 
waves were rolling into the bay in considerable height, their sails 
sometimes disappeared for some moments a( a time from view. 

“ Kirsty,” said the youth in the sou’-wester at one of these 
moments, “ your man’s gane tae the boddom.” 

- Jokes of that description were not, however, appreciated on the 
Brae-head; and as the boy, almost immediately after he made the 
remark, retired from the scene of the excitement with his hand at 


42 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


liis left ear, his voice raised in a plaintive strain, he probably re- 
pented his witticism, 

“ Michty, but 1 wadna wonnei if the river got her!” 

” Oot o’ the road, Jock Smith, and lei me see them.” 

” Na; it’s Sandstone — it’s Sandstone.” 

Every man was on his feet now, as the great ship slackened sail 
and the hubbub of voices became louder and louder. 

It was impossible to tell which was to be the fortunate boat. They 
were still lashing through the waves about equal distances. Kirsty 
had been re enforced by one or two female companions with shallow 
baskets, who were waiting the arrival of their ” men ” and the 
sharing of their fish. 

” Kever ye fash, Kirsty,” said a fair-headed, buxom wench who 
was now wailing the arrival of her own husband’s boat with quite 
as keen an excitement as the woman she consoled. 

” Haud your tonarue, woman;” and Kirsl 3 ^ saying this, strained 
toward the Atlantic, as the boats swept round the bow, and the stern 
of the full rigged ship. Neither of them reappeared, so it was known 
that bolh boats had got a rope at the further side of the ship. 

“He must be short-handed,” said Captain Jansen, “he needs 
them both.” 

“ Weel, Kirsty. ye can gang up the toon,” added her buxom com- 
forter, “an’ lang Geordie’ll no threeteu ye wi’ the jilefor yer butcher’s 
account.’’ 

Kirsty, hard-featured and loveless and rough, only replied, 
“Aweei, I’m gled tor the men’s sake,” and turned back to the 
Pisher Biagins. 

The excitement subsided. Faither Dykes began to lick his lips 
with his dry tongue, and to feel that “ he wad be nane the waur o’ 
a dram,” 

Captain Jansen’s pipe was finished, so he turned to accompany 
the oldest active inhabitant. The rest of the men and women went 
di'wn to the edge of the.wi’tK' 1*0 se& what the line-fishers, who had 
been out all night, b^ Drought ashore in tiieiT boats 


CHAPTER X. 

THE ENGAGEMENT. 

The yacht had been well-nigh a fortnight at sea, and it was as 
yet no further away from Sicily than the most southern bay of 
Sardinia. They had made a detour of the Lipari Islands, and had 
seen the black columns of smoke at the tips of the cones, just as it 
it had been a strip of the iron-fields of Lanarkshire, with all its blast 
furnaces set down in the Mediterranean azure. Oil Capri they had 
cast anchor, and fioui the deck they saw those amazing round- 
limbed fisher-girls, who, like the sirens of old, enchant "so many 
British artists, marry them out of hand, and keep them in beautiful 
durance all the rest of their livef. 

From Capri they made a quick passage to the Bay of Cagliari, 
partly to see Sardinia, partly to get letters, as it was the last address 
the party had given their friends in England. 


BOL'LDERSTOIS’^E. 


43 


Mr. Frazer, the morning after their arrival in the Bay of Cagliari, 
sat at one end ot the cabin table with a pile of letters and telegrams 
in front of him; Sir Neil with a smaller batch was similailyloccii- 
pied; the ladies were lounging through the forenoon heat in their 
respective cabins. 

“1 find,” said the baronet, looking up from his letters, “that 
£3000 have been put to my credit at an Edinburgh bank. How am 
1 to regard it? Is it a portion ot the loan you mean to invest in the 
slate quarries of Boulderstone?” 

“ Not at all,” he answered, smiling; “ you have made it.” 

“ How can 1 be said to have made it, when until 1 received this 
letter from Queen Street, 1 never made a single move in the matter?” 

“ No, but you have made it all the same; the shares that were 
assigned to you in the Sicilian Copper Company increased in value 
and have changed hands. They were yoiu*s; they are now somebody 
else’s. There is nothing wonderful in that, Sir Neil.” 

The two men looked at each other from the ends ot their table. 
It was the first time the baronet had ever experienced a “ transac- 
tion.” 4 he extent of his knowledge of business hitherto had been to 
draw the amounts paid him quarlerly by way ot income. He hardly 
knew whether to feel pleased or dejected as he realized that he had 
become possessed ot so considerable a sura in so occult and easy a 
fashion. Mr. Frazer enjoyed his embarrassment; there was some- 
thing very virgin and fresh in it to the experienced projector. 

“ You may keep your mind easy on the subject,” he added; “ it 
is not a great transaction by any means, but for a first one it 
will do.” 

“ For a first one!” said Sir Neil, reflectively. “ Do you anticipate 
any more of the same sort for me? You know 1 had not made up 
my mind whether 1 should ever deal in shares. There’s a side to it 
1 don’t like,” 

Mr. Frazer prepared to resume his reading as the baronet added, 
smiling, “ Only, it is rather ungracious to make a suggestion of 
that sort now that the transaction is finished, and so satisfactorily.” 

Both men resumed their letters, and presently the baronet un- 
folded a long parchment roll, finely emblazoned, and containing at 
the end of a periodic address a number of signatures. 

“ Y^ou see what Boulderstone is doing for me,” said he, handing 
it over to his friend. 

Mr. Frazer ran his eye down it rapidly, with the comment, “ They 
expect a good deal out ot you, at any rate.” 

The document was the congratulatory vote of the local parlia 
ment which sat at the gate ot Boulderstone Castle and managed the 
destinies ot the town drains, the rump, the streets, the foreshores, 
and the general municipal peace of the place. 

“ Well, they have always been used to a good deal being done 
for them in my father’s time.” 

The baronet opened a fresh letter, and again said, suddenly, 

“ How quickly you do busicessl Y'ou have appointed a manager 
for Boulderstone.” 

There was just the least shade of irritation in the tone of his voice 
as he said so. It was not lost upon Mr. Frazer, who, running 


44 


EOULDERSTONE 


llirouffh a file of his own correspondence, picked out a letter, spread 
it before him, and replied deliberately, 

“ No, Sir Neil, not appointed exactly. That would be more than 
you empowered me to do.” 

The baronet paused for a further explanation, and receiving none, 
read aloud, 

“ 1 have been in Boulderstone for some five-and-thirty years. 1 
have made 3"Our father’s interests my interests. Day and night 1 
have studied to make myself acquainted with all that concerned (he 
estates. I have managed them honestly and frugally. My books 
and accounts are open to inspection from the first day 1 came into 
the rent-house to the present hour. 1 know, sir, tnat during that 
lime other influences have been at work, and that you have not 
come into an inheritance free from embarrassment. Far from it — 
And so on, and so on,” said Sir Neil; ” the letter is from old Kay, 
the factor, and he seems to have received an alarming telegram of 
some sort which he thinks equivalent to being turned out on the 
world. Kay is a most worthy old fellow, and deserves and must 
receive much better treatment than that.” 

” This birkie has a will of his own,” thought Mr. Frazer, as he 
looked at him; adding aloud, “There’s some^ mistake somewhere; 
Mr. Kay has no cause for alarm; the man 1 have sent down will 
merely look into matters from a business point of view; he will not 
seek to supersede any one.” 

Sir Neil, accordingly, looking satisfied, rose from his seat under 
the burnished cabin lamp, and finding that he might intrude upon 
his mother’s privacy, he passed into the side saloon, where she was 
sleepily reclining with a novel in her hand. 

” Well, mother, you may sign checks again,” he said. “ We’ve 
been on the Stock Exchange during the last few vreeks, though we 
didn’t know it, and are winners by three thousand.” 

“ My dear Neil, you surprise me.” 

” Nevertheless it is the case, and I thank Heaven that at least it 
will save you from the kind of humiliation you had begun to ex- 
perience at Paris and Palermo, il not sooner.” 

“ What a man he is!” said Lady Dutton, inclining her head 
toward the cabin door, alluding to the financier. 

“ In all these matters he is a man of genius,” said the baronet, 
retiring; “ there are good days in store for Boulderstone, 1 think,” 
he added, cheerfully, as he passed out and up to the open air, with 
a very strong feeling of gratitude to the man of business poring over 
his letters. 

On the afternoon of the same day Sir Neil and Caroline were 
standing together near the wheel. The girl was smiling with that 
expression of gentle languor which comes into the eyes of young 
creatures when they have begun to lore. And she was really a 
little in love with the tall, athletic figure who was leaning over the 
wheel and looking into her face earnestly. 

‘‘ You know my taste about the high places of cities,” he was 
saying. ‘‘ 1 arn never happy until 1 have got a view from the top- 
most outlook; if it’s a steeple, or a spire, or a tower, so much the 
better. Then 1 feel that I have got the point of view known to 
the eagles and storks, or the swallows of the place, and I’m con- 


BOULDERSTONE. 


45 


tent. In the case of Cagliari, you see it has none of these — only a 
hill with a flat summit, a series of winding streets, leading among 
old bijou shops, a cathedral and a college. What do you think? 
May we go up and look out across the bay this evening?” 

'• 1 s))all like it above everything,” said Caroline, turning up her 
eyes prettily, and sighing with the gentlest movement of her bosom. 

“Not that this isn’t very nice,” remarked Sir Neil, lifting his 
elbow from the wheel and looking round the spacious Bay of 
Cagliari. 

” Oh, no; I’m sure this is quite too charming.” Here Caroline 
repeated a criticism of Lady Dutton’s, which she was sure it would 
be the correct thing to say. But she might have said anything, and 
it W'ould have sounded divine to the young man in the state of 
mind he then enjoyed. There was, however, no extravagance in his 
remarks. 

The yacht lay at anchor among a score or so of sailing-ships. 
Here and there on the blue waves boats were plying, and their occu- 
pants sung wild Sardinian chants as they rowed. 

On the hillside the sun lit the dome of the cathedral, and it 
glowed like a ball of fire among the piles of square, flat-roofed 
houses. To the right hand there was a long headland of sand, and 
the palm-trees, gaunt and motionless, were casting lean, dark shad- 
ows athwart it. To the left there was a range of blue mountains, 
peak after peak rising in dark outline against a sky of violet, in 
which were broken islands of orange and saffron. The gentlest air 
of the sea was wafted from the south, and it lifted the bay into rip- 
ples. 

” We may go ashore now, 1 think,” said Sir Neil, as the .yacht’s 
boat was brou.ght to the staircase; and he handed Caroline down to 
‘ihe arms of a blue-jacket, who helped her into her place in the 
stern of the boat. In ten minutes they were on (he quay and mount- 
ing the hill together. The streets were narrow and steep, but here 
and there a little window showed Sardinian treasures to catch their 
eye. At one of them they paused as Sir Neil drew his companion’s 
attention to the rings. 

” Like an entomologist’s case, isn’t it? Nothing but beetles, 
beetles, everywhere. These are as old as Carthage, they say, and 
the girls are wearing them yet. Look across the street at the win- 
dow above the door— two Spanish-looking girls have their ears 
adorned in the same way. They are pretty.” 

Caroline looked up at her foreign sisters in the window above the 
door; thej' smiled down at her graciously; but she only tightened 
her hold on Sir Neil’s arm and moved away. 

The summit of the town is an old deserted fort. Its sides are no 
longer mounted with guns. There is a boulevard of lines running 
round the outside of the walls, which overlooks the bay on one 
side, and on the other the wide champaign country, from which 
the Old-world peasantry bring in their oranges and citrons and 
grapes to the market-place of Cagliari. 

The pair sat down on the stone edge of the fort without speaking, 
and looked out upon the sea and the further mountains. I'he sun 
had disappeared from the scene, and it was that interval of the 
evening before the radiant light has gone out of the heavens and the 


46 


BOULDERSTONE. 


stars be^?iu to climb into their places. The sounds of a merrj’^ town- 
life were rising from the shore — inarticulate musical voices, the lilt 
of the Sardinian pipe, laughter, and an undertone ot oreaking 
waves. 

“ It might be two thousand years ago,” said Sir Neil, sentiment- 
ally, and Caioline smiled up in his face— ‘‘It might be two thou- 
sand years ago, and 1 am the Roman praetor. 1 have been appointed 
to Caralis, and it is the granary of Rome. You see the triremes at 
anchor there. They have had an engagement with a fleet from 
Carthage, and the piping you hear is a native musician playing: the 
hallo touch, which my Roman seamen are dancing with the Sardin- 
ian girls. They are flushed with wine, for they have plundered the 
Phoenician, and their shouts are the sounds of conquest turned to 
revelry. 1 am the praetor — good gracious, am 1 ?” exclaimed the 
baronet, breaking down in his high-falutin, as he watched his com- 
panion’s face growing serious and still more serious. 

‘‘ 1 wouldn’t like to be anything but what 1 am,” said Caroline, 
softly. 

‘‘ You enjoy it, then?” 

Caroline closed her eyes, as if her enjoyment had no language to 
express itself. 

Sir Neil was sitting with his back against the trunk of a lime-tree, 
and after a silence of some moments he drew the girl, resistless, 
toward him. 

‘‘ I seem to have been made very happy,” he murmured to her, 
‘‘since 1 came to know you. I think we might go on increasing 
each otlier’s happiness, through the years that lie ahead ot us. 
Something told me, when JL ,was on Monte Pellegrino that morning 
and looked from the Santa Rosalia to you, that 1 should owe muc£ 
to you. N ot happiness merely, but help for the fight of life. And 
1 need help.” 

He was talking in the daid?ness now — a darkness illuminated by 
myriads of stars— and Caroline was close to him. He had his an- 
swer, he knew, as he stooped to kiss her. She had promised herself 
to him by all the tokens of trust and love. 

“My Santa Rosalia, my patron saint!” he exclaimed again and 
again as he embraced her. 

And as he led her to the shore they paused at the little window of 
the jeweler and entered. 

Half an hour afterward Mr. Frazer, who was pacing the deck of 
the yacht rather uneasily, saw a diamond scintillate from his 
daughter’s finger as she grasped the lafirail to come aboard. He 
knew that they were engaged. 

CHAPTER XI. 

MR. HEW BROCK. 

The hamlet of Sandstone bore much the same relationship to 
Lobster Keep that Boulderstone bears to Boulderstone Castle. ^ 03 ^^ 
feudal attachment which there was virtually belonged to Mr. Hew 
Brock, of Lobster Keep. He owned the headland on which Sand- 
stone stood, though the keep itself was a tower and country-seat 


BOULDERSTONE. 


47 

miles to the west. Part of llie hamlet was Sir Neil Dutton’s— the 
smaller part; but there was no divided allegiance among the inhab- 
itants. They had always preferred the Duttons to the Brocks, and 
an event occurred in the course of the autumn which gave some of 
them reason to prefer the Duttons still more. Up to that autumn, 
however, they had but little tn do with the other proprietor. On a 
certain day of the year tlmy were expected to empty the shining 
contents of a stocking on a table in an olllce inside the outer gates 
ot the keep. The stocking contained the rent of the Sandstone 
crofters, who held feus from the Brocks. Sometimes there was 
more of it than at other times, and then the tenants had what 
passed for a word of congratulation snapped at them, like a shot 
from a pistol. The line of occupiers who had passed themselves 
down at the keep were never remarkable for soft answers. If the 
hamlet paid its small wa}^ pretty well, then it was not verbally con- 
demned to unmistakable torture. If the season had been hard with 
them, the corn and fishing short, the tenants w’ere sent away with 
some of the choicest things in blasphem}'^ ringing in their ears. 
But the blasphemy never covered any sinister intention. 

Sandstone went on its uneventful way, the men going down the 
cliffs to their boats and to the North Sea, where the}' lent the use 
of their hands and eyes to skippers nervously making the headland; 
the women coaxing what they could out ot the acres ot scrub and 
fen they w^ere allowed to farm. A hard life, truly, but there was 
little grumbling, tor Sandstone knew noihing very much better 
with which to compare itself. Besides, the score of families who 
composed the community were not of the stuff which makes grum- 
blers. They w’ere stout-hearted m^en and women, whom, the long 
fight with land and sea had improved rather than deteriorated. A 
local antiqiiary in Boulderstone was responsible for the ttieory that 
in the beginning ot the seventeenth century aship loadof Scandina- 
vian seamen were driven ashore there, tl at in time they had gone in 
among the hills and wived with the Celts, and that from then till 
now Sandstone had been Sandstone. And Boulderstone, cozily 
wrapped as it was within the folds of its valley, used to congratu- 
late itself on a stormy night that its lathers had not built their 
liouses on a crag above the sea. When the spring-time came its 
lads and lasses were able to hear the linnets among the 3'ellow broom 
behind the Brown Hill, and the blackbirds at the manse swelling 
into a passionate outburst of song; whereas at Sandstone the wail 
of the sea-mew or the cry of the auk was the softest piping that 
reached the ears. 

11 was an austere, rather Pagan community, for neither steeple 
nor school-house was visible in it. Once a month or so tiie parish 
minister of Boulderstone drove round and told them some of the 
things that happened on the coast of Syria a long time ago, just to 
keep them in countenance with the rest ot the w'orld. They were 
expected, however, to w’alk to Boulderstone to church and to make 
their children attend school there. 

This autumn Lobster Keep had a change of proprietors. 
Sandstone came to know it, as it knew must ot its gossip from the 
sea. A boat’s crew had been paid to land some luggage from the 
cutter at the little lobster harbor, and they had seen a flag flying on 


48 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


the turrets. They saw the new proprietor ascend the hewn stair- 
case ot sandstone that led tortuously from the harbor to the keep. 
What did he look like? jMost ot the Brocks they had known upon 
rent-days Avere brown, shaggy men. As this one turned lo trout 
the heaving expanse of waters the Sandstone pilots saw a face 
which blazed with crimson, and hair that shone with a tinge only 
less fiery. The new occupier looked down on them, and seeing 
some of his luggage a little rudely handled, his voice went down 
the cliff in a volley ot imprecations. They understood him. ble 
was like his “ forbears.” 

“ Go ay,” said Osric, the oldest inhabitant ot Sandstone; ” I 
ken his kind— sweer an’ tak’ the rent. They say he’s no’ a relation 
at a’; but he’s a Brock, an’ the blood o’ his forbears ’ll be in him.” 

Osric, however, was not quite correct. Though the new Brock 
bore the name of the old proprietors of the keep he had no known 
relationship to them. He was a younger son ot a Dundee Brock— 
his father, a worthy, pushing man, ‘had discovered the secret of 
producing sacks in enormous quantities in an incredibly short time. 
His father during his earlier years had been a woi’king mechanic, 
when one day it came into his head as he was engaged in oiling a 
piston that he could improve on the process he was superintending. 
He did improve on it, keeping his own counsel, and in the 
course of time getting his own patent taken out, and still later on 
having his own mill above his head, as he deserved to have. The 
offspring of his loins were not so successful as the ideas that sprung 
from his brain. His son Hew troubled him beyond all his family, 
and it was currently said in Dundee that Hew was the crook in his 
father’s lot. Once or twice he had threatened to die, and except in 
the four-and-twenty refreshment rooms and. bar parlors which he 
was wont to frequent, it was generally deemed that if he did it 
would be a fortunate circumstance for Mr. Brock. There are con- 
stitutions, however, which thrive apace upon unlimited dram- 
drinking; the alcohol seems to act as a preservative. It was so in 
Mr. Hew Brock’s case. The alcohol preserved him, and the apop- 
lexy with which he had been threatened once and again subsided. 
It happened on the back ot one of the fits of penitence, induced by 
an attack ot illness due to over-drinking, that Hew Brock “got 
round ” his father. He represented to him that the cause of his 
hard living was want of congenial employment. His tastes, he 
said, were those ot a gentleman, a country gentleman. He liked 
shooting, fishing, yachting, and farming. Fresh air must be got 
for him. Country life would reform him. Why not let him have 
his portion of his fortune, now that the estate ot the Brocks was in 
the market? The father, woiking mechanic that he was, cared 
little about country life himself, but he had come dimly to believe 
that he must have been a descendant ot the real Brocks ot the north, 
who had somehow got out of line of march with them. The op- 
portunity seemed a good one for connecting his family again with 
landed people. Then it might reslore his son, and in any event it 
would get him out of the way of Tayside gossip. He might marry, 
and pull through respectably. 

These, briefly, were the circumstances that brought a Brock back 
to Lobster Keep, after the last ot the name had been cariied out to 


BOULDEKSTOJ^E. 


49 


the littk bleak inclosure on the edge of the moor, where there were 
half a dozen lichened tombstones inside a dilapidated iron railing, 
bearing dates to the end of the sixteenth century. 

Old Osric prophesied /ttiat they would see as little of the new pro- 
prietor as they had seen of the old stock. But he was wrong, for 
the very next week, when the minister from Boulderstone came 
round to tell them in his monthly scriptural address not to indulge 
•in the lust of the eye and the pride of life, and to mortify many 
sinful tendencies, wdiich, if they had them at Boulderstone, were 
not much known at Sandstone, he told them that the new Mr. 
Brock was riding all about the country and showing himself to 
everybody. It was not, therefore, such a surprise as it might have 
been to six young maidens of Sandstone who were plying their 
sickles in one of the outer Helds nf the hamlet, to see a stout-backed 
man with a ruddy face cantering through the heather one after- 
noon, and drawing up within a few yards of them. 

“ Here, one of you girls, come and hold my horse!” he shouted. 
” You can do it,” he told a plain, brown wench, who was shading 
her eyes and staring at him. “ 5fou are the nearest and”— sweep- 
ing the group with his eyes— ‘‘the plainest-looking. You don’t 
know me,” he remarked, kicking aside the osier framework Which 
did duty as a hedge, and striding into the field. He got no answer, 
but a dozen dark eyes looked at him with a mixture of anxiety and 
wonder. He was an imposing man, and walked abruptly in among 
them. ” 1 am Brock, of Lobster Keep. You are my tenants. Well, 
girls, wiiat are you afraid of?” he added, as two of their number 
precipitated themselves on their comrades, when he reached out his 
arms to touch them. “ 1 won’t eat ye,” he continued, progressing 
through the party, and extracting a resounding kiss from on(3 and 
then another of the struggling group. ” Where are the men?” he 
asked, as the victim of one of his salutes lifted the corner of her 
apron and carefully wiped her mouth. 

” A Norway tiinmer ship missed stays off the Sandstone Head- 
land, and they’re a' aboord tryin’ to get her into deep w^ater,” re- 
plied the most forward-looking of the group. 

Mr. Hew Brock directed a searching glance at her, and her cheek 
seemed to have an inviting redness for him, for he made two rapid 
steps forward and would have saluted again it he could. 

‘‘ And that’s Sandstone,” pointing with the handle of his whip 
to the thatched and scattered houses on the cliff, at the corners of 
which some matronly figures were standing, shading their eyes and 
looking in the direction of the fields. ” Well, you’ll know me the 
next time you see me.” 

The afternoon of the following day the hoofs of his horse tore ao 
half the cabbages in the front garden of Pilot Andersen. 

The men, it had been agreed among the mothers, were not to be 
told about Mr. Brock’s salutations in the field. But he had only 
kissed five of the girls, so it leaked out somehow. At all events 
there were two young fellows in sou ’-westers smoking at the edge 
of a peat-stack when the proprietor appeared, and though they saw 
his horse wanted holding, they moved away toward the clifl! with- 
out volunteering to help him. 


50 


BOL’LDEKSTOXE. 


“ Here, you— come back and bold ray horse, and be damned to 
you!" shouted Mr. Brock. 

But the sou’-westers disappeared below the cliff, and tossing the 
reins to an elderly woman who came out frc^ Andersen’s door, 

“ Who are those fellows?" roared the proprietor. "They saw 
me. damn them, well enough." 

"They are sons to me— both,” said the woman, with her hands 
on the bridle. 

" The first time 1 come across them I’ll score their backs with my 
whip," he replied, his red face blazing with wrath, as he put his 
iiead in at the door. 

The mother pursed her lips, but kept hold upon the bridle as she 
added, quietly, 

" The lads ’ll no’ stand that, sir, frae ouy man." 

Mr. Brock seeing nothing inside the cot to reward his acquaint- 
ance, traversed the garden and applied his toe to the next door, it 
flew open, and the sunlight poured in upon the exasperating visage 
of an old man in a serge jacket and red nightcap, intent upon the 
sole of a sea-boot to which he was diligently administering blows. 
The satyr was looking for the nymphs, and this vision disturbed 
him. 

Truly these fisher-folks were sufficiently cool in their reception; 
no crowding to see him, no obeisance, the homage of indifference 
all that rewarded him. 

The Lord of Lobster Keep made three more domiciliary visits in 
the same spirit, but the mothers had put their daughters out of 
sight, with an instinct of danger. So Mr. Brock took stock of his 
tenantry, and abused them from door to door, until he had arrived 
at the utmost edge of the hamlet. Here he saw something to abate 
his choler: a young matron carrying a pitcher of milk. He became 
amiable at once, and intercepted the young woman bet. ween her gar- 
den and her cottage door 

" I haven’t seen you before,” he observed, with husky affability, 
as he pinched her chin. " Who are you?’' 

"I’m Magnus’s wife, sir," said the woman, courtesying, flushing, 
and evading him. 

" And who the devil is Magnus?" he pursued, gripping her, and 
bringing his face to bear upon her cheek. 

There was a struggle, s. scream, and the bulky proprietor, disen- 
gaged from his prey, suddenly disappeared from view. 

"I’m Magnus," said an explanatory voice, and a tall man in a 
sou’-wester and a brown beard stood between the young wdfeand the 
prostrate proprietor. 

Mr. Brock had never been interfered with in that way before. 
He rose, emitted a snort like an enraged bull, picked up his whip, 
and charged his assailant. It -was no use. He disappeared rather 
more rapidly than before, and still Magnus stood on the pathway. 

And now the cottage doors w^ere lined with visages, the horse 
Ji^ean while being visible on the moor, scampering toward the keep. 

"I’ll root out every man, woman, and chtld on this cliff!" 
shrieked Mr. Hew Brock, as he turned and strode homeward through 
the heather. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


51 


CHAPTER Xll. 

THE ANNOUNCEMENT. 

!Mii. Feazer expected some communication to be made to him 
that evenin.c^ after Sir Neil Dutton and his daughter had been to the 
town of Cagliari together; so did Lady Duiton. The baronet 
usually had a great deal to say after his excursions ashore. The 
reticence of Mr. Frazier was not always inspiriting at the saloon 
table. It was apt to produce long pauses, during which each one 
was inwardly calculating what his thoughts were, aud what he 
would be likely to say next. It is the penalty of reticence that it is 
always open to misconstruction. How are you to know^ in the ab- 
sence of the human voice that it does not cover an attitude of aggres- 
sion or positive hostility? Sir Neil Dutton, however, was not made 
of the stuff which suspects latent unfriendliness under any attitude. 
He w^as generally conscious of so much benevolent intention to all 
his neiglibors that suspicion of their feelings toward himself had no 
room in his mind. 

But that evening they dined in comparative silence so far as Sir 
Neil was concerned. His attentions to Caroline were quiet aud con- 
tinuous, and her looks expressed so much subdued meaning that 
Mr. Frazer and Lady Dutton were both aware that a crisis had oc- 
curred in the relationship of the young people. 

“1 am afraid that Sardinia has a dispiriting effect upon you,’* 
said her lad 3 ^ship, “ it is so very dull and Old World. 1 shall not 
be sorry to be out to sea again."’ 

“ It has a very bad effect upon the crew,” responded Mr. Frazer, 
attempting a little conversation in the unwonted absence of remark 
from Sir Neil. 

The steward apparently took the observation as personally direct- 
ed to himself, for he motioned to his assistant nervously, and the 
latler hastening to obey his summons at the saloon door, deposited 
himself and a trayful of fruit on the floor behind Mr. Frazer’s chair, 
and everybody was aware of a bumping of apples and oranges and 
peaches against their feet. 

” 1 suspect,” said Lady Dutton, ignoring the circumstance, with 
an increased stoniness of expression which showed how stiongly 
conscious she was of the occurrence, ‘‘ they find themselves obliged 
to drink when they are near shore.” 

” They are not allowed to drink ” — and Mr. Frazer saying so 
looked wrathfully at the steward — “ but they seem to find means of 
being supplied;” and the conversation stopped again. 

The truth was that the yacht was beginning to suffer the de- 
moralization that is apt to overtake the best crews when they are 
much in proximity with the shore. It tries the best of seamen to be 
always posing among clean bnisses in picturesque costume; and 
there are so many ways of evading the rule of teetotalisni devised 
by the ” bosses ” in tlie cabin-end. There is the boat, for example, 
which comes off with the stucco images; well, no one can hinder 


52 


BOULDERSTOISI'E. 


the forecastle hand buying an image; but what is easier than to 
smuggle aboard a couple of bottles of bad rum at the same lime? 
There is the tobacco boat, with its piles of fruit in the stern, and 
the tanned old man with bead-like eyes takes what he can get for 
his goods. He will supply a villainous concoction of native wine 
and spirits with the same alacrity as he supplies fruit; he will only 
take a jersey for it. Then when the yacht is at rest all the evils of 
authority seem to break loose. The engineering department falls 
foul of the navigating department, and a stoker finds it necessary in 
defense of his oily chief to give a foremast hand a couple of black 
eyes. The cook’s assistant, who thinks himself a much more use- 
ful member of the community than the boys in gold buttons from 
the cabin-end, spills soups on the young gentlemen’s boots; and re- 
venge is not long in taking a definite and tangible shape if there are 
old oranges, bottles, jam-pots, waste sardine-boxes at hand. A 
spirit of mischief and of intrigue rules all up and down the crew 
until the fires are once more lit in the stoke-holes, and the breeze of 
the sea is sweeping through the ropes. 

“ if you desire it. Lady Dutton, we can get up steam in a couple 
of hours,” said Mr. Frazer, in the interval of one of the pauses 
■which had set in with great force, while Caroline cast languishing 
eyes on Sir Neil, and he rewarded her with glances in kind. 

‘‘ Have jmu nothing to say to that proposal, Neil?” 

” To what proposal, mother?’' responded Sir Neil, vacantly, his 
mind wholly absorbed with a different topic. 

” Carry, my dear, I appeal to you,” continued Lady Dutton. 

Are we to leave Cagliari to-night? Have you seen everything? 
Or would you prefer to stay?” 

” It is for your ladyship to decide,” said Mr. Frazer, seeing that 
his daughter had as little initiative in the matter as Sir Neil. 

‘‘ Then 1 think we had better go to sea again.” 

‘‘ Our next address will be Ajaccio,” added Mr. Frazer. “Let 
them have a boat, steward, to take letters ashore to the agents; and 
tell the captain to get up steam as soon as he likes.” 

Sir Neil was fairly roused, now that there was talk of going to sea 
again, and said, ” I admire the way you do things, Mr. Frazer; 
there’s something Napoleonic about your swift decisions. 1 for one 
shall like nothing better than going to Ajaccio to see where Napo- 
leon himself was cradled. 1 think 1 can answer for Carry, too,” he 
added, and the secret was out. He had never used her rhaiden 
name before. Neither Lady Dutton nor Mr. Frazer any longer 
doubted that their son and daughter understood each other. 

Some hours later the masthead and side lights were adjusted, the 
anchor was drawn, and the yacht, with every man at his post, was 
lieading for the Strait of Bonifacio. 

Sir Neil had bidden his mother good-night, leaving her with a 
broad hint of the engagement, which it surprised him to find she 
w'as obtuse enough not to seem to understand. With Mr. Frazer 
he took a different course. 

They had been walking up and down the deck for some time in 
silence, w^hen the baronet paused at the deck-house door with the 
words, ” 1 have something to say to you of importance.” The 
capitalist stepped in and took his seat at the table, under the swing 


BOULDKHSTONE. 53 

lamp. Sir Neil, leaning on his elbows opposite him, opened the 
conversation. 

“ We seem to have knowm each other a long time, Mr. Frazer, 
though it only counts by weeks as yet. What 1 have to say to you 
assumes that we have known each other for a longtime.” Mr. 
Frazer smiled, anticipating what w\as coming. ”1 have this very 
evening told Caroline that 1 love her, and she has consented to be 
my wife.” 

There was nothing at the moment Mr. Frazer could have better 
wished Sir Neil to say. There was, how^ever, an astounding direct- 
ness about the announcement that rather took away his breath. If 
he was not really surprised, it had all the eftect of surprise upon 
him. His usually impassive face showed strong manifestations of 
feeling. After all, Caroline was his only daughter; and here w'as a 
young man whose pale, eager face was not unpleasant to look at 
even under the new light ot being a possible 8on-in-Iaw% but who, 
as a claimant for his daughter’s affections, rather struck him at the 
moment as being an interloper. Mr. Frazer was an old and tried 
man of the world, who had entered the deck-house knowing the 
nature ot the communication that awaited him. His eye glistened, 
however, as he looked at the baronet. 

” Man, she’s but a lassie,” he said, in a tremulous voice. 

Sir Neil was touched with the fatherly exclamation. 

” But 1 thought it right to tell you at once, Mr. Frazer, what our 
feelings are, and that we have confessed tliem to each other. I 
don’t talk just now of marriage. She is, as you say, ‘ but a lassie.’ 
1 hope, however, you will allow her to choose in this matter for her- 
self.” 

Mr. Frazer was himself again in a tv^ inkling. He had no mind 
for his daughter to be loved by a young man and marriage not to 
be talked of. 

” Oh, yes, she will choose for herself, Sir Neil — she will be allowed 
to choose. 1 will put no stumbling-block in my daughter’s way. 
You only surprise me with your suddenness.” 

” I know 1 am hardly entitled to speak to you on the subject,” 
replied the young man, ” but you have interested yourself so much 
in my affairs, you have done so much for us, and 1 have been drawn 
so much to your daughter, that 1 could not choose but tell you how 
I feel. Besides, I am no longer young. 1 feel that 1 should begin 
to be placed in life; and asl have no desire tor a mere life ot pleas- 
ure, the sooner 1 am placed the better.” 

“You are twenty-six, 1 think?” 

“ I am some months past it, and Caroline is—” 

“Nineteen. You are not a man of passing fancies, Sir Neil; 1 
can say that from my own observation. 1 can say more. 1 think 
of all the young men of my acquaintance 1 could select none that I 
could intrust my daughter's welfare to with more confidence. 1 
think you both should have every prospect of a long life of happi- 
ness and usefulness before you. You will go into Parliament, ot 
course?” 

“ 1 must get Boulderstone in order first. 1 should never be able 
to do useful public work with the feeling that my estates were in a 
bad way.” 


54 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


“ To be sure, to be sure; but there will be no difficulty. Caro- 
line is not a ‘ tocherless ’ girl.” 

This assurance seemed to make Sir Neil a little unhappy. 

” 1 think you will believe me. Mr. Frazer, when 1 say that any 
thought of Caroline’s fortune has not been in my mind at all. If 
she had not a penny to her fortune 1 should be quite as anxious to 
marry her.” 

The rich man liked the answer: he foresaw that there was to be 
no difficulty about settlements; it was the assurance at the same 
time that his daughter had fallen into the hands of one who, valuing 
her tor her personal qualities, would treat her with attention and 
affection. 

“ To be sure not. 1 would not suspect you of fortune-hunting. 
Far from it. 1 know 3mu to be a gentleman and a man of honor. 
But that my girl is not altogether tocherless you will find to be a 
good thing in your public career.” Mr. Frazer could not help pre- 
senting even his daughter in her best marketable light to the young 
man who was bidding for her hand. ‘‘And you will be all the 
better, too, with your opinions about speculations on the Stock Ex- 
change,” he mused aloud, reverting to an earlier conversation. 
‘‘You can give undivided attention to public affairs; you may be 
Premier yet,” he added, rising in the deck-house and planting his 
hand on Sir Neil’s shoulder. 

The baronet simply asked, “ You are satisfied with me, then‘r” 

” 1 think you will do; and 1 can safely affirm that Caroline has 
qualities of heart and head that will be of great use to you in life. 
1 further think that you may aspire to a high place in politics. In- 
deed, 1 may say that your name has frequently been before the 
party managers, to my certain knowledge. Had you any plans of 
your own?” 

‘‘ 1 had no plans. Before my father died I had intended to travel 
in the United States for six months. Indeed 1 had engaged with 
myself to be there now. One must know the United States to un- 
derstand the political future of England. With the discovery, how- 
ever, that our affairs were so miserably mixed up, 1 had to abandon 
the idea.” 

‘ Y^ou should see the States,” replied Mr. Frazer, after some mo- 
ments of reflection. 


CHAPTER Xlll. 

JUNIPER BANK. 

Bertha St. Clair lived a little out of Boulderstone. Before the 
river came into the town at all it made a circuitous sweep between 
banks yellow with broom and purple heather. Near the summit of 
the bank of the river behind the town Bertha had a cottage of her 
own. ^ She had lived in it now for seven years; her father had died 
in it; it was a spot she loved tor its own sweet sake as well as for 
the memories that had begun to cluster round it. The roof of the 
house was almost level with the summit of the bank on a natural 
terrace of its own, and steps led down from it to a spacious garden, 
planted in a ravine safe from the encroachments of the river. Her 


BOULDERSTONE. 


55 


coltage had only one story, but it was roomy enough for her. Her 
kitchen looked upon a narrow poultry-yard; her bedroom and sit- 
ting-room windows commanded the Boulder. And she had another 
little room to spare; the servant-maid slept in it. Bertha bestowed 
a great deal of care upon her cottage. In the warm shelter she 
found that the fuchsias grew luxuriantly. Roses, too, came to 
splendid maturity right in front of her windows; the scent of them 
was the first greeting she got in the autumn evenings when she re- 
turned from the charil3’^-school. As lor the garden down in the ra- 
vine, it was strictly a useful place for the encouragement of goose- 
berries, blackberries, and apples, as well as vegetables, for Bertha’s 
father had tried to establish himself as a market gaidener before he 
died, and the fertile ravine was the subject of his experiments. 

Bertha’s father had not been a great success in life. He had tried 
a great many things in a great many places, both in the new world 
of the antipodes and in the old world of Loudon. 

He had gathered a little money, too, but all the use he made of i( 
was to try his claim to a remnant of an estate on the other side cf 
the county from Boulderstone, and to fail in his attempt. His lack 
of funds brought the case to a summary conclusion, though there 
Trere opinions in the Edinburgh Parliament-house favoring his 
claim. He had come to Boulderstone a comparatively poor man 
alter his disappointment, and made what he could out of the few 
acres that surrounded “ Juniper Bank,” and the garden in the ra- 
vine. 

Bertha had early learned to clear her mind of all thought of the 
righteousness of the claim, though lier father spent much of the 
later years of his life in talking as if he had been the victim of a 
grievous injustice. She early learned that if each day was to pro- 
duce for her a certain amount of happiness it must carry its own 
portion of work; and fortunately for her she had not far to seek. 

But when her father died, the acres that had been let with the 
cottage were withdrawn at her own request. She could not unaided 
attend to them; it was all she could do, indeed, to keep the ravine 
in order, by the help of certain stout arms from the foreshore, and 
b7 handing on the produce to be gathered and sold by the fruiterer 
in the square. 

Berlha had not many wants of her own to supply, and if the-sea- 
fions had not been treacherous she might have made the ravine gar- 
<len supply most of them. Years ago, however, she had observed 
that other people, with smaller wants than even she had, were often 
compelled to go unsupplied. When little Jackie Thomson stepped 
up the hill one raw, wintery afternoon, his feet bare, and two but- 
tons all that kept his blue chapped skin from the cold, Bertha had 
taken the message the boy carried, and gone back immediately to 
the tailor’s, and paid for such woolen garments as had never been 
on the boy’s back before. AVlien a succession of little boys were 
sent up the hill, however, in a similar condition, Bertha was unable 
to make the contents of her purse stretch the length of her sym- 
pathy. Willingly, if she had been able, would she have wrapped 
the shivering little fellows in the warmest clothing, but she was 
poor. That was the beginning of a new experience in her life. Her 
father, who had what to her was the strange, inexplicable pride of 


56 


BOULDEESTOHE. 


beiuj? a “ country gentleman,” though unrecognized, mixed as little 
with the JBouldeistone folks as his necessities would let him. _ And 
he would have his daughter confine herself as much as possible to 
Juniper Bank. As for her mother, Bertha did not so much as recol- 
lect her, though she knew, from a photograph which hung over her 
bedroom mantel-piece, that sue resembled her in face and figure. 
She had died when Bertha was quite a child; and her father, who 
only cared to speak of his misfortunes, rarely alluded to her. Often 
the daughter had tried to bring him back to happier recollections by 
allusions to his early years of married lite; but a sigh and a long fit 
of silence was the only response she got. 

So it was only after her father’s death that Bertha was free to fol- 
low up tlie poverty to its source, and found that the foreshore of 
Bould’erstone had many a tale of hunger and nakedness. The spec- 
tacle of misery had no sooner touched her than she began to feel a 
strange uneasiness and longing. 

For the first time Bertha felt the bitterness of her own lack of 
means; she could not help others as she would like. Her father had 
never taken any interest in helping any one, and she found no ally 
in the town itself who seemed able to do comprehensively what she 
herself would have liked. 

But for all that Bertha’s tall figure and her market-basket became 
very well known in the neighborhood of the church-yard. 

Years before she came out of her teens she had carried fresh eggs, 
her fruit, and her flowers, through lanes of sou’-westers and oil- 
skins, baskets of hand-lines and basins of bait, to rooms where she 
knew there was ill-luck and hunger. But that she found was not 
enough by itself to help the misery which so often dejected her. 
She had her reward for her spontaneous acts of kindness; many a 
face she hardly recognized brightened on her as she passea through 
the lower parts of Boulderstone. She became vaguely conscious, 
too, of little fishermen pausing in their game of marbles to repeat her 
name as she went by them; and more than once a hard-featured 
woman had come to Juniper Bank with a cut of turbot for which 
she refused to be paid. 

There was something pleasant in all that. Bertha, who, so far as 
the middle-class portion of the town were concerned, had been 
strangely isolated, liked to feel herself loved by those humbler ones 
who knew her. But their affection did not satisfy her. It was not 
mere luxury of emotion Bertha desired, once she became truly alive 
to the misery in other people’s lives. She hoped for active good to 
them, and as she got older the bitterness of feeling how little she 
could do grew upon her.’ 

‘‘ If I were but a man,” she would think to herself, unconscious 
of the splendor of womanliness that glowed in her own sweet face 
and diHused itself from her simplest walk and gesture — ” if I were 
but a man, 1 could do so much.” 

It was under that impulse of desiring to help the weak neighbors, 
of the foreshore that she was induced to call upon the parish min- 
ister and ask help. 

The Rev. James Petersen, tall, stout, dark-ej'^ed, kind, and lazy, 
received Bertha with much cordialit^^ Loving his own wife up- 


BOULDEUSTONE. 57 

rightly and sincerely, the Eev. James was still not unsiieceptible to 
the charms of a fresh 3 'Oiing temiile presence in his study. 

'* You should join our Dorcas Society, Miss St. Clair,” he told 
her, through a cloud of smoke which she would not allow him to 
curtail, “lam sure you might intercept many a petticoat and pina- 
fore, that now go to Madagascar, with great advantage to your cli- 
ents in the biggins.” 

Bertha liked Mr. Petersen. His large, genial presence seemed to 
make it easier for her to think of lessening the bulk of the want out- 
side her. Anything that was generous and kind seemed possible 
under the humorous gleam of his dark eyes. The minister had not 
been quite sure when Bertha made her appearance that it was not 
something troubling her “ soul” that he might he obliged to look to. 
He knew that Bertha was not on his membership roll, and he 
thought at least he would be asked to praj" with her. 

It was a peculiar pleasure to him, therefore, to find that instead of 
a hysterical jmung girl, trembling under the terrors of the law, he 
had before him a fresh, sensible creature with an egg-basket, who 
would not hear of him stopping his smoke. 

Still Bertha, if she did not apply to him for the consolations of his 
ministry, was greatly more earnest than he. Without one conscious 
thought of Christianity or Church system in her mind, she was 
burning with something like a religious enthusiasm. She wanted 
to be up and doing; but how to be up and what to do she had not 
been able to tell herself. 

“ Join the Dojcas Society,” urged the minister; “ you will be the 
better of meeting the young ladies of the congregation, and the 
young gentlemen too,” he added, slyly. 

“ But 1 should like to do something better than sewing for the 
poor people, something more lasting th^an petticoats and pinafores; 
1 want to teach.” 

“ My dear young lady, you are just in time,” said Mr. Petersen; 
“here is the ^rarity -school vacant. 1 am pledged to nobody. 1 
have influence enough to get you it. "Will you take it?” 

And Bertha took it, and for some years the work of her life had 
been the work we have seen her pursuing in the little diamond- 
paned school -house. The attendance at the “ Dorcas Society ” had 
not been so successful. For one thing, it was opened and closed 
with prayers, and Bertha could not avoid the conclusion that the 
ladies who prayed were performing. Then the hour and a half they 
spent together among cotton and flannel seemed to Bertha full of ili- 
natured episodes. Bertha, out of the fullness of the knowledge of 
the foreshore, mentioned several cases of want to the society, when 
she had her ears regaled with the most astounding tales of drunken- 
ness and dissoluteness which had brought it about. 

“ But,” said Bertha, “ a person does not need to be good to be 
entitled to a little flannel in the winter-time. 1 should think it was 
enough to be cold and in want.” 

Whereupon there was such a clattering of tongues that she was 
fain to leave the table altogether. She was so definitely and insult- 
ingly prayed for before the meeting came to an end that she thought 
it better henceforward to go about her own work in her own way; 
and she was none the more popular on that account, though the 


58 


BOULDERSTONE. 


minister fought for her good-humoredly all over his parish when 
critical tongues were wagging. 

But by the lime Bertlia appears In this history the load of her re- 
sponsibilities has indefinitely increased. ISIol withstanding that 
Boulderstone as a township was sufficiently prosperous, it seemed to 
Bertha that there must be more to do in it than anywhere else. Day 
by day the burden of her anxiety grew. I'rom merely wishing to 
• relieve a case -of distress here and there, Bertha bad come to con- 
ceive plans for the betterment of the whole foreshore. Why should 
the fisher-people of Boulderstone pass so much of their lives in the 
evil-smelling misery of their badly-floored rooms? Why should 
they have so tew gleams of happiness, except what they got in the 
sanded floors of the Whale’s Head? The mote she tasted the joys 
of the passing seasons at the side ot the Boulder— each season bring- 
ing 10 her its own wealth ot color, sound and fragrance from sunsets 
and greenery, river and song-birds, roses and nTint — the more she felt 
that there w^as an element of exclusiveness in her happiness that 
touched it with the poignancy of positive misery. It w^as not until 
she had discovered that two or three small proteges at a time might 
be made to share the happiness of her home that she was latterly 
able to reconcile herself to the comparative wealth of Juniper Bank. 
She had brought more than one of her own little pupils, when he 
was just off the sick-list, to recruit beside her. ft w'as the cause ot 
several sharp quarrels with her domestics; a succession ot them de- 
clined to have poor boys and girls on their hands while she w^as 
teaching in town; but Bertha’s sympathies were 'based on a firm, 
strong will, and she let one after another of her servants go, until 
she found in one a coadjutor whose heart was stronger than her 
prejudices. In her zeal to be of use to people outside her, Bertha 
found that she must have funds to help her. Captain Jansen had 
been cne of the few friends her lather recognized in Boulderstone. 
Him she always retained; and, indeed, from being her adviser at 
first, she had gradually become his— the captain’s love for the gi /1 
latterly taking the shape of acquiescence in all the schemes that she 
proposed. 

It was Captain Jansen’s unacknowdedged hope that some day 
Bertha would reward him by accepting himself, but he stood a little 
in awe of her. There was that in her which, in her most familiar 
intercourse with others, preserved her from rough familiarities. Not 
that Captain Jansen was the man to press such attentions upon any 
woman. In his estimation there was a sacredness about woman- 
hood, and his conviction took the form of a humble demeanor when- 
ever he was in their presence. His humility w'as not awkwardness, 
but was a perfectly sincere feeling that he, a rough, bearded man, 
used to command rough, bearded men, was something essentially 
different from a woman— something inferior, because coarser. 

Bertha, however, had broached so many schemes to him tor help- 
ing people on the foreshore that he had come to know her better 
than he had ever dreamed of knowing any ot her sex. 

It is Captain Jansen who is stepping up the river-side this autumn 
evening to Juniper Bank as Bertha, with hammer in hand, nails up 
a refractory rose which has broken loose from its place above her 
cottage porch. 


BOULDEIiSTONE. 




CHAPTER XIV. 

SEPARATION. 

The yacht was two days in making Ajaccio, coasting most of the 
time. For Caroline the days were passed in a state of subdued 
ecstaf^y. It was not the first time the girl had known the attentions 
of men, young and old. Even at Brighton she had more than once 
escaped the surveillance of her teachers, and allowed herself the* 
liberty of a little flirtation on the West Pier with handsome strangers. 
»he had sat for an hour one bright afternoon listening to the talk of 
a tall young gentleman with a wonderful mustache who had per- 
suaded* her to take coffee and cognac in one of the iravilion-iike 
refreshment-rooms; and after the young gentleman had left her, the 
bar-maid told her she hart been speaking with a lord. More than 
once her hand had since been asked. A salmon-colored old gentle- 
man, with the frost of seventy wdnters on his brow, had bid tor her; 
but her father, knowing the private life of the bidder, eschewed his 
wealth, and advised him to seek for a wife elsewhere. A young 
advocate, who really cared for her, and who had seen her to her 
carriage through a whole winter’s assemblies in Edinburgh, made 
a proposal in all good faith. But the advocate was comparatively 
poor, and it had not yet been determined among the Queen Street 
clique of writers whether he was to be allowed to make a reputation 
at the bar. Mr. Frazer did not consider the pleadings he had read 
in connection with criminal circuits entitled him to aspire to Caro- 
line’s hand. So he got the cold shoulder. 

Caroline was never much moved on these occasions. She said 
the old gentleman with frosty hair was “ real nice ” to her. She 
told her father that he was “ very particular when he spoke dis- 
paragingly of the advocate; and, with some terror, she ii'ore than 
half suspected that he would like to w^ed her to a doctor of divinity 
who carried snuff in his left waistcoat-pocket, and who had a habit 
of glaring at her through benevolent spectacles for some minutes at 
a time. 

It, was on the back of these experiences that her liking for Char- 
treuse and kindred sweet liquors again broke out. And some un- 
seemly outbursts of laughter in which she had indulged during an 
uniisuall}' large assemblage of white-chokered divines in her father’s 
dining-room, induced him to look up a long-neglected aunt and to 
place Caroline under her care for some time. The girl had forgotten 
her liking for tempting stimulants during those later weeks; and 
now that the baronet’s mother had admitted her to the familiarities 
of a daughter, counseling her, under the light of that relationship, 
with advice taken from the severest code of social and Christian 
morality, she found the companionship of Sir Neil Dutton an ex- 
perience comparatively fresh in her life. She was not very open to 
external influence, but in the presence of Sir Neil she seemed to be 
gifted with a new power to realize things. A-nd these two days on 
the coast of Corsica passed like a golden dream. 


60 


BOULDERSTONE. 


The yoang people were engaged. They had purchased the right 
to find out such sequestered nooks of the deck as there were, and, 
in the interval of a caressing attention to each other, to look on the 
beautiful world with beating hearts. 

The yacht never went far from the shore, so there were ever 
vaguely present to them the gray mountains, which came down to 
the sea in precipices, and were kissed with the gentlest fringe ct 
white waves; the sky overhead untouched by a single fleck of pass- 
ing cloud; the shimmering sea, where the dolphins were tumbling 
in the sunlight, bluer than the heavens. From their awning not far 
ft’om the wheel the lovers spent many hours dreamily viewing these 
things. There were moments in which past and future were not. 
It was a dream of lot^e and of the present. Even the beating of the 
screw and the tramp of the men as they came aft to the wheel W'ere 
sounds borne in to the lovers’ ears as from a world with wdiich they 
were not associated. Their love was the old, old slavery of young 
hearts in young frames — a bondage of tenderness which knit their 
whole being in one. 

Once or twice as they sat mutely looking on the sea, a whiff of 
the olive gardens borne to them from the shore, and a yellow shore- 
bird lighting for a second or two on the taffrail. Sir Neil read to her 
passages from Byron. 

But he was forced to shut the book and fall back upon his sensa- 
tions. Byron seemed commonplace for the moment. And so mat- 
ters fared till they cast anchor before Ajaccio. 

Mr. Frazer did not expect to get much conversation out of his 
future son-in-law so long as the first fever of his affection was on 
him; and it lasted all the time they were in Ajaccio. True, the 
party went up on the citadel and looked on the sea; went into the 
municipal buildings and read the parish register of Napoleon’s birth; 
took wine under the acacias in the great square, where there are still 
remains of the house where he was born; and had an evening 
prornenade in the Botanic Gardens, which were once the property 
of his father. The baronet did not, however, rise to the occasion. 
All Ajaccio was out the evening they spent in the Botanic Gardens, 
and it might have been the Tuileries they were in, so French was 
the music, so French were the fashions, so entirely French were the 
walk and conveisalion of the olive-cheeked, polite, and sedate Cor- 
sicans. 

“ It’s a wee bit of a place to have produced so big a man,” re- 
flected Mr. Frazer aloud, looking round upon the high-heeleu, crim- 
son skirted women, and the dandy young government officials, pass- 
ing splendid on less than forty pounds a year. ” It must have been 
a fluke,” he repeated, shortly afterward, when the young people 
gave him no answer, ” a freak of nature; he will have no successor, 
at any rate, from this crowd.” 

But Sir Neil was devising some new attention to Caroline, and 
though Caroline heard her father, *she considered it judicious to 
ignore him. 

” Ah, well,” he added, a little impatient at length, amid his grati- 
fication, “ I’ll away and look about me.” 

And the next time they met was nearer midnight on the deck of 
the yacht. 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


61 


They wrere nearly a week in Ajaccio; ind at the end of that time 
Lady Dutton was beginning to weary, and Mr. Frazer’s presence 
being required in Scotland, "they set out for Marseilles. 

“ 1 must have Neil two whole hours to myself. Carry,” said Lady 
Dutton one morning on the cruise between Corsica and the south of 
France. Sine 3 he has been engaged to you he has hardly spoken to 
me. 1 am not jealous, my dear. 1 know men never do things by 
halves; and it can’t, in the nature of Ihings, last forever. Aou are 
better to take advantage of all the attentions you can get so long as 
they are offered to you. But 1 must see Neil this morning to talk 
to him about our future arrangements. You will not come on deck 
then till 1 have done. 1 shall make the talk as brief as possible.” 

And Caroline retiring to her cabin, the mother and son soon sat 
on pleasant deck-chairs, out of the glare of the light, he smoking 
lazily while she conversed. 

” You have not made any definite arrangements as yet, Neil, 
about — about your marriage?” 

” We haven’t fixed a time yet. 1 shall leave that to Carry and her 
father.” 

” Carry, of course, will have — will have a considerable ” — (Lady 
Dutton hesitated, but her son did not help her out) — ” will have,” 
she resumed, ” a considerable fortune.” 

Sir Neil rose, went to the taffrail, and shook the ashes from his 
cigar. 

1 have not the faintest conception of Carry’s fortune, mother; 1 
have not asked about it; 1 shall not ask.” 

He was annoyed at his mother more than she feared he would be. 

“ But, my dear Neil, Mr. Frazer is a man of business, and it is 
quite high time that you should understand what arrangements he 
is to make for her. He is reputed a millionaire. You will, of 
course, hold out for a marriage-portion which bears some relation- 
ship to the whole amount of his — his savings. You could not be 
put oft with less than a third.” 

Sir Neil made no reply; and his face, except that it was as grave 
and as impassive as might be, gave no indication of the current of 
his thoughts and feelings. 

Lady Dutton paused, and then continued: 

‘‘ 1 should lose no time, Neil, in bringing Mr. Frazer to the point 
with regard to settlements. Business men are apt to value money 
more than people who have not been in the habit of working for it. 
And they take narrow views sometimes, when it comes to parting 
with it— their sense of ownership is so very keen.” 

At that moment Mr. Frazer softly approached from the deck- 
house. 

” My dear Mr. Frazer,” said Lady Duttou, in a persuasive voice, 
”1 have just been deploring with my son the break-up of our party. 
1 know that 1 am in some measure responsible for it. I could find 
ii in my heart, tor ihe young people’s sake, to be a lifetime on this 
summer sea— the dolphins, don’t you know, the precious colors, the 
healthy sea-breeze.” 

‘‘ Weil, if your ladyship should care to lengthen the trip, i would 
arrange for the yacht being kept in good sea-going order. Business 
necessitates my return to Scotland.” 


BOULDEESTONE. 


62 

“ Ab! business,” exclaimed her lad 3 'sliip, sentimentally. “But, 
by the way, Neil has just been saying to me that—” 

Her son looked at her with a flash in his dark eye that warned 
Lady Dutton she had better not improvise anything in connection 
with marriage-settlements. 

“ 1 declare,” finished her ladyship in an irrelevant manner, “ the 
yacht is beginning to lurch.” 

Sir Neil instinctively turned to the cabin door for Caroline, but 
she did not appear. 

” Caroline will go on to Scotland with you, of course,” said Lady 
Dutton, piqued at her son, and determined to say what she thought 
would make him most unhappy for the moment. 

jMr. Frazer, who had not before contemplated the prospect, an- 
swered, “ that would maybe be best. She will spend the winter in 
Edinburgh with her father, 1 think,” he added, for no otlrer reason 
than that, being a business man, he always liked to look as if he had a 
definite programme before him. 

“ 1 shall winter in the Riviera somewhere,” rejoined Lady Dut- 
ton— “ possibly at Bordighera; only 1 am told the little place is 
getting overcrowded. If not at Bordighera, certainly at Mentone. 
1 do not feel that I could face a winter in London or in the North. 
As for you, Neil, 1 presume you will go back to Paris or Vienna 
and study political situations?” 

“ Caroline shall decide,” said Sir Niel, quietly. 

“Well, now,” remarked Mr, Frazer, “ Caroline is not exactly 
qualified to decide. You may depend upon it that Caroline will 
ask you to be in or near Edinburgh. 1 would let other considera- 
tions decide. You spoke to me concerning a plan you entertained 
of going to the United States. Would it not advance your political 
prospects if you were to carry out that plan?” 

Sir Niel was perfectly sincere in his love for Caroline; he had not 
contemplated so speedy a separation; though he knew' that they 
could not see so much of each other after the cruise came to an end, 
he expected that for some time at least they would be near. There 
was something that seemed to tell him they ought to know each 
other better; for all he as yet definitely knew was that she had a 
languid, inviting eye, and cheeks like a well-sunned peach. So 
far as character could be revealed by speech, he was as much out- 
side her nature as he had been when he first met her at Palermo. 
He loved her, however, and had been more closely drawn to her 
than to any of the lailies who had tried to fascinate” him during the 
later years of his roaming. But Mr. Frazer’s speech induced a new 
train of ideas. He was, he felt, on the threshold of life. He had 
probably a long career before him. Love was something in that 
career, but it was not to be everything. It should not be allowed to 
count for everything. If he were to do public work, he must not 
be turned aside from the path that led to it, even if it were his 
future wife that stood in the way and beckoned to him. “ One 
can see a great deal now in a few months,” he mused aloud. 
“ Perhaps Carry would not mind about a few' months’ absence.” 

At that moment Carry’s head became visible on the cabin stair. 
J.ady Dutton saw her, and exclaimed. 


BOULDERSTOi^E. G3 

“Oh, you may come now, Caroline; we have made all our ar- 
rangements. You are to have a voice in them.” 

Sir Neil rose hastily to bring her inside the gioup. 

“ Caroline,” pursued Lady Dutton, still piqued, “ he is going to 
America.” 

“ Are we to be — ” and Caroline faltered. 

“ Child, it is business versus love, and love has to go to the wall 
for a day.” 

“1 wish you would not put things in their very Trorst light, 
mother. ’ ’ 

“ My dear Neil, you know we ought to face what is before us 
bravely. The arrangements are, Caroline, that you return to Edin- 
burgh with your father; that Neil goes to the prairies; that 1 — 
well, that 1 abide by the Riviera.” 

Caroline’s lip quivered, and she seemed on the verge of shedding 
a tear, when a wave splashed up the side of the yacht, and sent its 
shower of spray over the group. All handkerchiefs were then in 
request, so that the amount of the girl’s emotion, measured in tears, 
was not apparent. 

The arrangements were, however, final; and one Saturday after- 
noon, three weeks later, Mr. Frazer and his daughter had waved an 
adieu to Sir Neil Dutton from the steam-tender of the “ Italia,” the 
ocean going vessel setting out for New York from the crowd of 
ships in the roadstead at Greenock. 

CHAPTER XV. 
bertha’s dream. 

Bertha was still standing, hammer ^ hand, nailing up the 
climbing rose, when Captain Jansen descended the bank and stopped 
in front of hey cottage. It was one of the lovely autumn evenings 
which make the birds think it is spring again. Bertha’s valley was 
echoing to the shrill utterances of a chaffinch; a mavis was pouring 
out his mellow notes from the topmost twigs of the thicket that lay 
between her garden and the river; down in the bed or the amber 
stream sand-pipers flew along the margin and called to each other 
plaintively. 

“ You have the Indian summer, ma’am, here. We see none of 
this further down,” said the captain, quietly, Bertha looked round, 
and saw her friend surveying the valley with a glance of uiimixed 
pleasure. 

“ I’m so glad to see you. Captain Jansen. 1 have a great deal to 
talk about.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am; at your service. 1 thought I’d look in to- 
night. It struck me there was a thing or two 1 might do tor you 
in connection wdth the gas company.” 

“ Why, where’s Oscar, captain?” asked Bertha, descending from 
her chair, and catching a look of Fidget smelling the visitor’s boots 
in a gingerly, disappointed manner. 

“Ahl Oscar; 1 shut him up. When the dogs get together they 
do a lot of damage among the flower-beds. 1 was afraid to bring 
him.” 


64 


BOULDERSTONE. 


At that moment there was the sound of hard and rapid breathing 
on the walk. Fidget rushed away, and there stood Oscar, his red 
tongue protruding from his mouth, and a very guilty expression in 
his face. 

Bertha laughed, Oscar took courage and elevated his tail, ap- 
proaching in a cautious, tentative manner, while Fidget gamboled 
all over his head and neck, barked, and made general welcome for 
him. 

“ You should be put in irons, you scoundrel,” said the captain, 
eying his follower with an effort at moral severity. 

The dog saw that he was forgiven, shot forward, and leaped at 
his master. Fidget then withdrew with him to show him the mys- 
teries of the garden. The captain had dressed himself for his visit 
to Bertha as he used to dress when his seamen rowed him ashore at 
a foreign port. He looked less like a seafaring man than a shore- 
going member of some profession, owing to the tallness of his hat, 
the immaculate blackness of his corded silk tie, and the newness of 
his blue- black coat. 

“ Sit down. Captain Jansen,” said Bertha, presently, motioning: 
him to a garden lounge of wicker-work. ” The night keeps so 
sweet and fresh I think we might talk a little here, at least until tea 
is ready.” 

The captain removed his hat and held it on his knee. It was as 
if he were returning thanks for a blessing showered on him. His 
hair was thick and auburn yet; his pleasant face shone. 

Bertha could not help smiling on him as he sat. She had acci- 
dentally broken off a rosebud, which was struggling into life late in 
the season. It lay on the shingle at her feet. She stooped to pick 
it up, and beaming on the captain, she approached and fastened it 
in his coat. There was not a suggestion of coquetry in the girl’s 
action. She had often tlone tlie same thing to her father. But she 
had no sooner adorned the captain than her cheeks crimsoned, and 
she became self-conscious. 

As for Captain Jansen, had their very knees not touched each 
other as she stooped over him to place iliie rosebud? Was the breath 
of her lips not wafted to his cheek? How could he help supposing 
that he might speak a little of his love? 

But Bertha, growing pale after her rush of self-consciousness, 
stepped into the cottage rapidly, and the captain was left with his 
rosebud in his coat, the chaffinches caroling among the trees, the 
sand pipers mourning by the river, and a hundred turbulent 
thoughts in his own breast. 

When Bertha returned, it was with tea-cups and buttered bread. 

” And now, captain, you will tell me what it is you propose to 
do about the gas company;” and Bertha stood, cup in hand, look- 
ing at him with a direct, almost cold glance. Captain Jansen rose 
uneasily to his feet; it made him uncomfortable to feel that Bertha 
was serving him — waiting on him, as it were. 

What had happened to her in the mean time that she should look 
at him with eyes so severe? John Jansen was puzzled, for he was 
unlearned in the ways of womankind. He sighed gently as he 
took up the thread of Bertha’s remark. 

“About the gas company, ma'am; I thought you might like to 


BOULDERSTONE. 


65 


have a pipe brought up the hill to your rooms. It would save a 
world ot trouble with the lamps. Though 1 never use gas myself, 
1 know it saves a deal of trouble.” 

But Bertha would not have her pure cottage tainted with gas- 
pipes. No, she would not like to have workmen carrying them up 
the hill. Was not Captain Jansen inconsistent to recommend to 
others what he would not take for himself? She liked to keep her 
house so fresh that the beesfnding their way in at the open window 
only discovered their mistake from the absence of flowers. 

Captain Jansen looked disturbed, felt mechanically at the rose- 
bud in his coat, as if it were somehow the cause ot a change in the 
conversation for which he could not account. 

Bertha was quick to note his look ot dejection, so drawing her 
chair close by the garden lounge, she invited the cantain to be 
seated again, and for herself she forgot tne self-consciousness and 
the cause of it in her desire to make him happy. 

” 1 have really kept you from going to sea, then?” said Bertha, 
after a pause in the discussion of genial nothings. 

” You’ve done more, Miss Bertha; you’ve given me no cause to 
regret it. I’ve booked myself for shore-going life, and 1 believe I’ll 
enjoy it. But, you know, the sea has been everything to me since 
1 let go my mother’s apron strings. 1 can’t explain it to you; but 
when a man’s bread has been cast upon the waters so long, the hard, 
fixed earth seems deadness to him. 1 owe it to you that it will 
not be with me as with many another man who falls to using the 
- bottle to keep the moving of the sea in his legs. You’ve given me 
something to do.” 

Bertha’s views of life were almost wholly of her own forming. 
She had been brought up among secular people; she had never had 
the story of Galilee or the scheme of the universe presented to her 
heart or imagination with any power. When her feelings, there- 
fore, were touched, it was not because she felt herself in harmony 
with the world ot theological maxims, and in conscious co-operation 
with a first principle. WTiat she knew of these things she knew 
vaguely as a matter of feeling, and of half unacknowledged long- 
ing. Her nature was essentially sympathetic; it was naturally 
wholesome, and she rejoiced in preferring the true to the false, the 
right to the wrong, because so she was born and existed. The cap- 
tain’s confession of the good she did him touclied a moral fiber in 
her, however, which vibrated through her whole being. 

‘‘ You could not say anything to Captain Jansen, that would re- 
ward me better than that assurance. And something tells me that 
you will never regret your choice. Listen to my dream of Boul- 
derstone, and you will understand. It came to me under the cross 
of the auld kirk years ago. It has never left me. Well, 1 looked 
round from the gravestones on the windows of the foreshore, and I 
saw many faces. They were white and thin and sad. The women 
'were going out and in at the doorways, and their backs were bent. 
They carried burdens of turf, and children were clinging to their 
scanty skirts. There were many glances from the window's and sounds 
from the doorways* but not one that was not sorrowful. Nowhere 
could my eye catch a face wdiich seemed (o have known happiness. 
It was as it they had been weeping for years, and they had nothing 
■3 


66 


BOULDERSTOis^E. 


to show tor their lives but hard and teur-dried faces. And just then 
the sun shone upon the graves and upou the windows, and 1 would 
have wept it 1 liad dared; for is it for this, I asked myself, that the 
children are at the windows, and the women are bowing their backs 
under their burdens? Is it to be carried from misery to silence, and 
that the sun may shine upon their tombstones, that they are now 
moving out and in among the lanes? And 1 thought of the cold 
church-pews, and the bell in the clock-tower rang, and 1 knew there 
was a message of another life and another world; but the mockery 
of it! A message to these bowed backs, to these pale children. 
How dared any one tell them of peace and happiness when the tomb- 
stones told them what they were coming to? The burden and the 
chill and the pinching wrote on their tearless faces what they were. 
And 1 turned from the windows of the foreshore and looked to the 
sen. There it lay, blue and peaceful, and the wild birds feeding on 
its bosom. The ships were sailing on it, the boats were plying their 
oars. It feeds the sea-birds, it gives a pathway to the ships; why 
should it not yield to the foreshore treasure enough to straighten 
the backs of the wmmen, to put color in the cheeks of the children? 
The great, gracious sea! And leaning on the old cross, it came to 
me that the people of the foreshore were as children wu’thout any 
one to think for them. Children, indeed; for there came crew upon 
crew of great browm men down the lanes by the church-yard, home 
to their rooms with the dingy windows, to their pale children and 
bent women; and with the salt of the sea in their blood they laughed. 
How long would it last? I could see, for other crews were leaving 
the doorways, and the misery of their narrow hovels was written in 
their faces. They, too, would smile when the sea had blown upon 
them and tossed them. Children that they are, 1 thought, might 
they not be happy from the beginning to the end, if their lives were 
more beautiful? And as I looked at the gray walls of the foreshore 
it seemed to me that the windows bloomed with roses, that the faces 
of the babes became full and round, and that where the tearless eyes 
w^ere there were now smiles and laughter. And the women carried 
in their burdens still, but it was with heads erect and with a smile 
on their lips. The men came out and went to their boats, but the 
goers-oiit were as cheerful as the coraers-in. And the meaning of it 
all came upon me. They labored no longer to fatten this man and 
that in the square of Boulderstone, and to help him build villas on 
the margin of the river. They labored for themselves and for each 
other. What they drew from the sea they sold, and the payment 
was no longer made to them as a favor and a dole. The fruits of 
their toil were all their own. The generous sea gave them enough 
and to spare; with plenty they had health; and then the flow^ers 
bloomed in the windows, and their lanes were dry and sweet from 
the sea-breezes. But they needed some one to guide them and to 
teach them— children that they are. 1 dreamed it years a^o,” said 
Bertha, slopping short before she completed it, and withdrawing 
her eyes from the opposite bank and appealing plaintively to Cap- 
tain Jansen, “ and what of it has come true? On the foreshore there 
are, indeed, a few flower-pots in the windows. But the bow'ed 
backs and the pale faces — ” 

Bertha did not tell her waking dream without visible marks of 


BOULDERSTONE. 


67 


excitement. And the captain did not dare to interrupt her with 
remarks. The truth was, he felt profoundly unhappy, and wished 
most heartily that he were not the comfortable, well-dressed mortal 
he was. He became painfully conscious that the gloss on his black 
hat must be rather an aggravation than anything else in Bertha’s 
eyes, lie thought with bitterness ot his gas shares, his house 
property, and his account in the bunk. At the moment he would 
have courted poverty or anything to have her good opinion. 

“ 1 am far too rich,” he broke in, suddenl}', upon Bertha’s silence. 

“You are not too rich, Captain .lansen. Don’t you sec that if 
my dream is to be realized more money is needed? It ihe foreshore 
is to become the bower of my imagination there must be help given 
where it is required.” 

The captain s brow cleared as he turned to Bertha to tell her, 
“ Everything 1 have 3 mu may freely use.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

Boulderstone Castle and park dominated the right bank of 
the river. The castle had two aspects. From the sea it looked a 
somewhat gloomy. Gothic institution, rearing its walls as gray, hard, 
and forbidding as a cliff. Originally it had been built in the teeth 
ot the Atlantic, and on its seaward aspect the windows of the Gothic 
part of the castle still opened upon a broad bulwark of Hint stone, 
against which the waves, at some seasons of the year, made long, 
surging attacks. 

Its higher stories culminated in clusters of turrets, and the whole 
character of the architecture was somber and aggressive. 

Inside it had the same character as outside. There was a large 
baronial kitchen, which was for the most part hewn from the bare 
rock of the foundations. The staircase that led from the level ot 
the bulwarks to the high turrets was of bare sandstone, scooped with 
generations of footsteps, as by the tumbling of a stream. As 'you 
passed the doors in your ascent, you saw the wickets and the iron 
gratings of an earlier century. Some of the rooms were tapestried 
with themes drawn from the Sagas. The hall was full of anti- 
quated furniture, the chimney-pieces and mantel-shelves solidly 
carved; grotesque mirrors of the sixteenth century lighting up the 
walls; and a perfect armory of weapons ranged high in the ob- 
scurity of the further end. You heard the boom of the sea in libraiy, 
kitchen, hall, staircase, and bedrooms. The other aspect of the 
castle was wholly modern. Square windows looked through a 
series of stories, from a thick covering ot ivy, upon the broad, green 
level of ine park. So far as the shelter ot the castle extended there 
were yews, limes, ash, and elms spreading themselves about. Fur- 
ther out, the wund that swept the park from the sea allowed no 
herbage but cropped grass. 

There was a coziness both of exterior and interior in the modern 
building. Passing from its decorated rooms, its paintings, its 
burnished fiie-placcs, its screens, and comparative!}^ slim temporary 


68 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


furiiisliings, to the solidity and gloom of the old castle, had the most 
curious efiect on different minds. 

The late Sir Neil Dutton used to test his guests by their prefer- 
ence for one or the other; and a historian who spent three months 
in a chamber prepared for him in the Gothic side of the castle had 
attributed much of the success of his descriptions to the spirit of 
the past conferred on him by the residence. 

It was the spring of the year, and Sir Neil Dutton had returned 
from ^Lmerica. Jle had nrouglit his mother from Riviera to Roul- 
derstone, and he expected to be joined by Mr. Frazer and his daugh- 
ter during the course of the week. 

Lady Dutton had no great anxiety to return to her son’s seat. 
From believing herself to be an invalid she had gradually developed 
into the most distressing kind of patient. She had become a 
valetudinarian. 

To all outward appearance she was a robust, cold, dignified 
woman, with a long spell of years yet to run. It was her own con- 
viction, however, or she affected the belief, that she was not long for 
this world. The consequence was that an immense amount of care 
and attention had to be bestowed on her ladyship. She was always 
exacting attention by a whole artillery of gasps, shudders, shrugs, 
coughs and frowns. Under such circumstances, much of her time 
was of course passed in her boudoir; but when she chose to bestow 
her company elsewhere, the occupants of the room were made im- 
mediately conscious of the fact that there was a draught below the 
doorway, that there was an aching glare from the lire- place, that the 
lamps smelled, and that conversation was exhausting. 

The first evening of their arrival Lady Dutton had thrown an un- 
usual amount of sickly complaints at her son. She wanted him to 
feel how much she had sacrificed in coming to Boulderstone from 
the shores of the Mediterranean. And, indeed, she told him that 
were it not for the marriage which was to crown the banishment be- 
fore tlie year had ended, she could never have prevailed on herself 
to leave the South. Sir Neil was to be married some time in the 
autumn — the exact date of the ceremony had not yet been fixed. 
It was understood to be in the month of September. But in the 
meantime Mr. Frazer, having during the winter deputed a man to 
look into the condition of the Boulderstone estates, had determined 
to lake up his residence at the Castle until his schemes for making 
them “ pay ” had been put into operation. 

It was to be a working year, therefore; and just at the outset of 
it Sir Neil found himself with a day or two still on his hands before 
the Frazers arrived in the house of his forefathers. 

He was not the same radiant being we have seen on the deck of 
the yacht, or leading his future bride up steep ascents on the shores 
of a southern sea. His trip to America seemed to have aged him 
considerably, though there had beenscarcely six months of it. There 
was, indeed, the same frankness in his demeanor, and it attracted to 
his service a large stag-hound, who, as he opened the wicket lead- 
ing to the garden, pushed himself through behind the baronet. Sir 
Neil sauntered down the sea-wall of tlie garden, under an avenue 
of limes; the flower-beds sent up a fragrance of fresh earth; as yet 


BOULDERSTONE. 69 

there was nothing in flower but the crocuses and snow-drops, for in 
that respect Boulderstone was not an early place. 

Presently he paused beneath a tree; there was a heap of chips fresh 
cut on the pathwa}’’. 

“ Why should they cut the trees?” said Sir Neil, addressing his 
dog, who was contemptuously smelling a field-mouse apparently 
too teeble to get out ot his way. The question had hardly been 
asked when the answer came in the swift descent of a boy from 
among the branches. The boy had neither coat nor waistcoat on his 
back; and as he fell a great gully knife rolled on the walk at the 
baronet’s feet. 

The startled hound turned tail and fled back to the wicket; Sir 
Neil looked down at the apparition in amazement, and the appari- 
tion sat with a rueful face rubbing its haunches. 

” My boy, I expect you have very seriously hurt yourself,” said 
the baronet, surveying the rueful face kindiy. ” It seems to me 
you have had a very narrow escape; you might have stabbed your- 
self wiili this great instrument,” alluding to the knife. 

The boy, with his hand on his haunches, rose cautiously, and 
began to ” hirple ” away. 

” Wait a minute, you mustn’t go like that. Here’s this great 
knife you’ve got to take away with you.” 

Whereupon the boy returned cautiously and picked up the gully* 
and again turned to go. 

” Here, my boy, 1 want to speak to you. Did you drop from the 
clouds just now, or how did it come about?” 

“ No, sir, 1 cam’ oot o’ the tree.” 

‘‘ And do you spend much ot your lime in these trees?” 

” No, sir, 1 never was in ane afore. Sure’s death* sir, it’s the 
first time 1 was ever in a tree afore.” 

“ Well, there isn’t anything much surer than death, is there? But 
did nobody ever tell you that these trees belong to me?”" 

‘‘ They’re Sir Neil’s trees, an’ he’s awa’ frae hame.” 

” So you thought you might go up and peel a branch as long as 
he was away. He’s back now, and 1 can tell you, my boy, he 
doesn’t like the branches of his trees lopped off.” 

The boy said nothing. But the voice which addressed him was 
so kind that, notwithstanding (ne occupation he had been engaged 
in, he moved but slowly away. 

“ Ofl again! Just vvait a minute; I’m sure you’re not in any 
great hurry.” 

The boy looked round and said, ” I’m gaithcrin’ bait, sir. I’ve 
nae bizniz to be here.” 

‘‘You’ve no business to be here because you’re getting bait? 
Don’t jmu think you’ve no business to be up these trees cutting 
them with that knife, because the trees belonged to some other 
body?” 

The boy did not follow the argument, so silence again ensued. It 
flashed upon Sir Neil that the poor boy might perhaps have coveted 
the branches for firewood. 

” What did you want the wood for?” he asked, half anticipating 
a tale ot pathos. 

” For ‘ knotty,’ ” said the boy. 


BOtLDERSTO>TE, 


70 

“ And who’s Knotty?” 

” A gemni I hey play whan the tide’s oot.” 

” Oh, a game. 1 know. And do all the Bonlderstone hoys get 
their clubs from mj'' trees?” 

” They’re no’ your trees. They’re Sir Neil’s.” 

” Yes, but I’m Sir Neil.” 

The boy looked at the baronet for a moment, and turning, fled 
precipitately along the edge of the sea-wall. 

” Well,” exclaimed Sir Neil to himself, ” that looks like popular- 
ity in one’s own town.” 

But he was not yet done with the boy. As he advanced down 
the walk he saw a back trying to make itself invisible behind a glass 
forcing-case. Coming up the walk he noticed one of his gardeners, 
whose appearance had evidently also stopped the boy’s progress. 

” 1 say, Grey, how is it that a boy can come in with a sheath- 
knife and cut the trees?” 

Grey touched his hat and opened his mouth, and Sir Neil watched 
the boy’s back going nearer and nearer the ground on the other side 
of the case. 

Grey had never heard of such an outrage before. 

” 1 fancy trie first boy we catch we shall have to hang.” 

Grey did not know whether that would be allowable; but he could 
answer for it, a. boy ‘‘ catched ” in the act could be ” jiled ” tor 
three months. 

‘‘ That’ll do, Grey,” said Sir Neil, in a low voice; and when the 
gardener, a little terrified by the awful views of punishment just 
aired by his masler, had retired out of sight. Sir Neil iaised*his voice 
solemnly. 

” A boy who could cut off a branch of a tree. Grey, willfully, 
with a pocket-knife. Grey, for the purpose of plajing ‘ knotty,’ 
ought to be dealt with in a manner proportioned to his offense. 
Grey,, such a boy you may observe at this moment ” — the body of 
the boy on the other side of the case disappeared entirely from view 
— ‘‘he is concealing himself. Go, Grey, take him by the breeches 
and hand him over to the policeman, and present Sir Neil Dutton’s 
compliments and say that he is to keep him — ” 

‘‘Oh, michty!” was the sound that came from behind the case, 
and the guilty youth raised a dolorous head, as if he w'ere prepared 
for any fate. 

But looking over to Sir Neil, he saw no gardener, and the person 
who had apostrophized him was smiling serenely. 

The boy, much relieved, sat down on the edge of his hiding-place. 

‘‘ If ye lat me aft this time, sir, I’ll never do’t again. 1 kent fine 
it was wraug. Miss Bertha told me afore that 1 wad get into mis- 
chief if—” ° 

” Who’s Miss Bertha?” 

‘‘ Her that’s teachin’ me to be a sailor, sir.” 

‘‘ What! a woman teach you to be a sailor? How’s that? Come 
along and tell me all about it. I’m going out on the shore. Since 
you’re going to sea, I must expect you to make a rigging among my 
trees.” 

” Thank ye, sir,’' said the hor, as Sir Neil, opening a lock-fast 
dooi in the sea-wall, stepped down upon the beach. 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


71 

The tide was out, and among the bladder-wrack on the low-lying 
rocks a number of figures were stooping, cutting limpets and put- 
ting them into pails. 

Sir Keil paused Jis the full sweep of the Atlantic met his eyes, and 
the culprit began to shuffle away. 

“ But, boy, who is Miss Bertha?” 

‘‘ The schule-mistress. She kens everything. Are ye no’ cornin’ 
tae the lanch, sir?” 

” She knows everything, and am I not to be at the launch?” 

” IVe’ve gotten six new boats, sir, and Miss Bertha’s goin’ to 
christen them before the fishin’ begins.” 

‘‘ She knows everything, and she’s going to christen the boats? 
Is she a yery old woman. Miss Bertha?” 

” Oh, michty, no, sir; she’s 3'ounger nor mony o’ the wives in 
Boulderstone. ” 

‘‘ That may be, my boy; but many of them must be as old as the 
centur}', if you understand that.” 

” Yes, sir,” said the boy, not in the least understanding. ” 1 
wad like to gaither ina bait noo, sir,” he added, hurriedly; “the 
tide’s cornin’ in. ” 

And the pair parted. 

Sir Neil strolled among the shingle enjoying the cool sea-breeze. 

Be had had a good deal of the sea lately; all the breadth of the 
Atlantic of it. But how was it, as he looked out on the white waves 
bey’^ond the rocks, that he felt he needed it more and more? 

The truth w'as, he was not at all easy about his future. Boulder- 
stone was to be rescued from poverty; he was to start life and take 
a share, if possible, in making the history of his period. But before 
that, there was marriage and many things to intervene. The pros- 
pect of rescuing Boulderstone was pleasant to him^ lie looked up 
its gnarled walls, and remembered how many generations of Dut- 
tons had heard the roar of the winds and the sea from within, and 
he felt small and humble to ihinK that in his hands the old place 
should he allowed to tumble to pieces. 

Yes, it was good to rescue Boulderstone, he told himself. But 
the marriage— and the share he was going to take in public life? 

Going to America had rather disenchanted Sir Nell. , During his 
travels he had received at regular intervals little pink notes from 
Caroline. They were written in a clear, angular hand, and they 
were well interlined*^ Her letters were not, however, what he had 
expected. ]\Iucli as he loved the girl, the longer he stayed in 
America the sillier they seemed to grow. He had read children’s 
letters over and over again that for sense and affection put Caroline’s 
epistles out of court. His mind was then in a cuaos from which 
only the natural geniality of his temperament could extricate him. 
He dreaded that when Caroline came back to him he would not feel 
toward her as he had felt on the IMediterranean. 

Then there was a whole world of local trouble preparing. He 
felt sure of that, because the man Mr. Frazer had appointed had 
superseded, to a certain extent, his owm factor, who, on the first 
night of his arrival, had poured out to him a succession of personal 
grievances, some of which he would require to redress. It seemed 
likely in that way that Mr. P'razer, who undertook the restoration 


BOULDERSTONE. 


72 

of the property on the understanding that he must be allowed to 
arranire everything in his own way, might resent any dictation. 
But at the outset the sweep of the sea-air, the little river silently 
joining the bay, the voices of the children among the rocks, and the 
feeling of spring, did much to clear away the gloom of the baronet’s 
reflecrions. 


CHAPTER XVll. 

THE BATTERY. 

Boulderstone was generally some time behind the great move- 
ments of the world. Fashion hud broken up the bonnets, tightened 
the skirts, changed the “ do ” of the hair and the character of the 
walk at least twice elsewhere before Boulderstone society had ad- 
justed its conceptions to the altered condition of things. Thus, for 
example, long after the rest of the female world had shrunk into a 
tenth of the size they once assumed under the regime of crinoline, 
the Boulderstone ladies were still laboriously moving into their pews 
on Sundays the centers of circumferences of clothing at once vast 
and bewildering. So, too, with the rest of their personal adorn- 
ments, if they had gone into a fashion in which an abundance of 
floral decoration was exacted, they remained in it, under the pleas- 
ing impression that they were walking the earth like princesses and 
other abstractions of dress in the far South. 

It was much the same with the politics of Boulderstone. 

Rejoicing in its little nook of the British empire, where the papers 
were necessarily a day old before they brought information of what 
the rest of the world was engaged in, its emotions were a little slow 
to rise. There was nothing to immediately connect them with, as 
in towns where the telegraph wires brought the roar of the world 
back in a whisper. If individuals felt strongly on any current sub- 
ject of interest, they could only become spokesmen tor their emo- 
tions^ to. the first argumentative neighbor they met, and as political 
parties were very equally divided, it was not always a soothing proc- 
ess. 

A good-humored query of Mr. Angus, the draper, addressed to 
Mr. Bain, the ironmonger, in which the former asked if his neigh- 
bor knew what “ that Disraeli was aboot noo,” being met by the 
assertion that “He micht speer at Gledstane,” had a tendency to 
. develop itself into sinister allusions to the relative respectability of 
each other’s standing in Boulderstone. Some prudent people"^ re- 
stricted their interests as much as possible to things having a defi- 
nite l)earing upon the immediate future of the town itself. Nor was 
there the slightest feeling in any quarter of being behind the age, 
though Mr. Gerrie, the watch-maker, who read a monthly magazine, 
and liad several volumes under lock and key — understood to be con- 
tradictions of the truth as it is in Genesis — sometimes liinted at a 
general tendency to slowness. Only he had nothimr to grumble at, 
as Mr. Staples, the baker, said, for he made his bread out of the 
tendency, his bill for the loss of time on the town clock being a good 
proof of that. 

A boy with a head of bronzed curly hair, without coat or waist- 


BOULDEllSTONE. 


73 


coat, -walking down the High Street was the means, however, ot 
putting Boulderstone in train with a movement which the casual 
arrival of newspapers tailed in doing. 

It was boy “ Heatlierhead,” the son of a fisherman who lived 
near the east toll bar, Heatherhead— as he w as called to his face 
by his equals, and at his back by all the . smaller boys who knew 
his prowess— was doing nothing in particular at the moment he 
originated the movement. He had discharged a fragment of whin- 
stone at a family of sparrows which were banqueting in the middle 
of the road when he was opposite the doctor’s; he had pulled the 
bell of the parish school- master’s house and withdrawing himself 
within shade of a doorway a little further down, had heard Kate, 
the servant, make an unmistakable reference to “ the devil ” before 
she shut the door again. He had surreptitiously opened the “ back 
door ” of the municipal cart, and seen, with glee, the load of sand 
trickling down the street. He had just chased a retriever, roared a 
nickname at a lawyer’s clerk, climbed the banker’s wall to see who 
was beating carpets on the other side, and was sedately making his 
way down the High Street without any visible means of interesting 
himselt. 

Suddenly ()pening his mouth, however, Heatherhead, in a clear, 
strong voice, broke out with, 

“ We don’t want to fight, but, by Jingo, if we do, 

We’ve got the ships, we’ve got the men, we’ve got the money too.” 

The more to amuse himself, boy Heatherhead turned the sound 
on with increased vehemence at each shop door on his way down; 
and singing all the length to the ships at the river-side, he left a 
sense of melody in the heads of more than one person standing be- 
hind the counters. 

Indeed Mr. Leith, who was making out some accounts in a small 
room off his affluent grocery store, w^as compelled to lay down his 
pen with some irritation; and shortly afterward, going upstairs to a 
midday meal, he astonished his wife by taking his fiddle out of its 
case, and performing a variation which she then heard for the first 
time in her life. Over and over again the wort try grocer played 
the tune, and to the last fit of scraping he added the warlike w-ords, 

“ We don’t want to fight,” etc. 

“Preserve me, James, where did ye get that rant from?” asked 
Mrs. Leith; but James only chuckled, for the tune seemed to put 
his politics in line ot march, and he determined to lay hold of boy 
Heatherhead and have the air intact. 

He did not require to wait for the air long. Having stepped an 
hour later into the stationer’s shop, there -were the very words star- 
ing him in the face on a new piece ot music. 

“ I’ll tak’ this with me, Mr. Allen,” said he; and iu a few min- 
utes more the fiddle was engaged in a tuiious outburst of martial 
music. 

Mr. Smith, the banker’s clerk, was also blowing the thing out of 
his fiute a day or tw’o afterward; and the baud having paraded the 
town to its measfire, the melody made itself audible in various de- 
pressing tinkles of the piano in different corners of Boulderstone. 


BOULDERSTOKE 


74 

The origin of the tune, so far as the town is concerned, has al- 
ready been lost in obscurity. Heatherhead certainly introduced it; 
but how he, a ooy ot roving and irresponsible habits, should have 
obtained it at all must ever remain a sort of mystery. 

It might have reached him through some proximity to the com- 
mercial travelers who stayed at the hotel, or from some ol the stok- 
ers on board the Sandstone steamboat, with whom he used fieely to 
consort. 

It was fit the height of this musical fervor at Boulderstone that 
Banker Manson was taking his constitutional on the Brown Hill, 
i The hill was no more than a slope, and it was not the least brown; 
I but at any rate Banker Manson was walking there when Bailie 
^ Coghill, the ship- owner, approached from another quarter, and the 
pair of municipal ruiers exchanging salutations, stood looking dowm 
at the chimneys of their native town, and at the ocean that lay out- 
side it. 

“ There can be nae doot. Bailie Coghill, that that man Disraeli is 
goin’ to snap his thoom in the face of the Zaar of Roosia, and every- 
thing goes to prove to my mind that before many weeks are oot we 
will be plunged into a bloody war.” 

” ’Deed, banker, I’m thinkin’ ye’re no far wrang; and though, 
as y( know, I’m a Liberal myself, 1 canna but th’nk that if he snap- 
pit baith thooms et the Zaar’s nose, he would be actin’ like a pat- 
triot.” 

“ All very good,” replied the banker, iris eye seeking the horizon; 
“ but Captain Jansen was in my office the other day, and he told 
me that he made out a Roosiau cruiser in the offing.” 

” Whaur’s that?” 

” Toots, man, in the distance. He made oot a Roosian cruiser, 
and what’s to hinder that cruiser from laying this town in ashes? It 
would be a ploy to them. An’ we havena a rifle or a cannon amangst 
us to say them nay.” 

” Ay,” replied the bailie, “but that would be a fine-like thing. 
He’s a perfect humbug that Disraeli. What the deevil has he to ^ 
wi’ the Zaar?” 

The banker was not-displeased with the impression he had made. 

“ What you and 1 have to do wi’, bailie, is nether the Zaar nor 
the Premier. It they fecht we maun feciit, an’ 1 dinna like they 
Roosians— there’s ower mony o’ them — but we must have some- 
thing to fecht wi'. W e must have ‘ men an’ money too,’ as they’re 
a singin’ an’ thrummin’ dowm there just now^ We must have a 
battery, an artillery corps, a rifle corps, and an armory. We must 
have officers and nou-commissioned officers, and big-gun practice, 
and target shooting; and the sooner the better, when they cruisers 
are nosing about the offing.” 

Bailie Coghill left his friend soon after, and next day Boulder- 
stone wms in a panic. 

Every peaceful coaster that showed a top sail at the foot of the 
headlands wms thought to be “the Roosian cruiser.”' A crowd 
mobbed the mail-coach in the evening tor the newspapers, to know 
it war was yet declared, and altogether, in the light of being re- 
duced to ashes, imperial politics became a burniiTg question for all 
intelligent individuals. 


ijouldeusto:ne. 


75 


The consequence was that i3ouklerslone rose e/i mam, and agi- 
tated. The war authorities were communicated with. Banker j\lan- 
son disappeared to the South for a fortnight; and when he returned 
it was currently reported that he had “seen the Premier, and he 
wasna a bad fellow.” 

Whether that may have occiirred is more doubtful than the ru- 
mor; but at any rate so expeditiously had the banker gone about his 
negotiations that two evil-looking machines of destruction were 
shortly landed at Sandstone harbor, and being conveyed to the 
cliffs to the west of the 'town, were surrounded with heaps of 
“ divot,” which Drummer Budge called a battery. And under 
Drummer Budge’s tuition an artillery corps had been enrolled, the 
banker, albeit he was bald and round, and fat, being appointed 
something officially very high in command, the lord of the manor 
alone being superior officer to him. 

The bailie and the banker again met on their favorite walk. 

“ Weel, bailie, this is fine spring weather, llae ye seen the bar- 
onet?” 

‘‘ Fine weather, Mr. Manson. 1 have not.” 

“ I’ve had one inteiview with him,” rejoined the banker, “ in an- 
ticipation of the toon rejoicings at his arrival among us. 1 can not 
altogether mak’ the young man out. He will have no rejoicings, he 
says, for him. ‘ But,’ says 1, ‘ Sir Neil Dutton, it’s on the toon 
books that there have Deen rejoicings o’ some sort for every Dutton 
that has come into the estates.’ Says he, ‘ Mr. Manson, 1 can not 
afford it — at least for some time -to come.’ ‘ They tell me you are 
goin’ to be married, sir,’ says 1. ‘ Well,’ says he, not altogether 

pleased -looking at the insinuation, which 1 put in a jocular man- 
ner, ‘ we must all come to that, 1 suppose,’ Says 1,‘ Sir Nei^, when 
there are estates to keep in a family, marriage is, perhaps, necessary; 
but for my part 1 will have no women to rule over my house.’ He 
laughed at that. ‘ But,’ says he, ‘ why should you rejoice because 
a man has come to spend a month or tw^o in his own home? You 
don’t get up and hurrah a new harbor-master, or a fiesh parson out 
of the South. Why should you get the people together to cheer me? 
I’ve never done anything for the town. It ow’es mo nothing. It is 
likely to owe me less.’ ‘ Hoots, toots, Sir Neil,’ I ventured tc say 
to him, for the young man has a reproachful manner with him that 
invites S 3 ^mpathy from a man of my otanding — ‘ hoots, toots,’ says 1 
‘ Boulderstone toon has ow’ed Bouiderctone Castle everything since 
the fifteenth century. 1 have the honor of being provost of Boulder- 
stone, and it’s my duly to represent to you that the feeling is as 
strong to-day as ever it was, and 1 hope you will put nothing in the 
way to hinder the people from expressing their satisfaction at your 
arrival in their midst. Be it but a cake and wine,’ says 1, ‘ in the 
Toon Hall so munificently presented to us by your worthy father— 
be it but a cake and wine, we will expect you to receive our con- 
gratulations.’ ‘ Surely, surely, piovost,’ says he, quite freely— and 
he has a pleasant manner when ho is not looking worried—* I will, 
it it will give you any pleasure; but anything like a formal rejoic- 
ing I must absolutely forbid. 1 Lave not allowed the tenantry even 
to light the bonfires, nor given them the dance they no doubt ex- 
pected.’ ‘ Hoots, toots/ 1 again ventured to say to him, bailie— for 


76 


BOULDERSTONE. 


there was asorrowfu’ expression in the young man’s ej'^e— I’m fear’d 
we’re too far oot o’ the world for you.’ But he resented that, and 
returning on the rejoicings, said bitterly, as you might have ob- 
served yoursel’ had you been there, ‘ You shouldn’t rejoice till you 
are sure of your man, provost; 1 can’t say yet whether I'm going 
to bring you good luck or not.’ fie raither feaied me with his ab- 
ruptness, and says 1, “ Sir Neil, with God’s help you will never 
bring an honorable name into association with misfortune.’ Then 
he raither smiled again, and says he, finishing the interview with a 
masterful wave of the hand— his grandfather’s wave of the hand— 
‘ No, you sha’n’t have misfortune it 1 can help it; but yet hold 
over the rejoicings for a little till we see. ’ And I left him, bailie, 
doubtful whether the new laird is not a little incomprehensible.” 

” i w^ad agree with you,” said the bailie, ruminating. ” Did he 
no speak aboot the guns?” 

“Man, it’s wonderful how the subject that’s uppermost in a 
man’s mind sometimes goes doonmost To be sure, he spoke about 
the guns; an’ he consented, in his regimental capacity, to be there 
at the openin’, and to bring her leddyship with him.” 


CHAPTER XVIll. 

THE ARRIVAL. 

Mr. Frazer and Caroline were expected at the castle on Wednes- 
day. They arrived a day earlier. To reach Boulderstone it was 
necessary to drive half through the country, for the town was still 
outsidtfthe circuit of the railway. The reason of that was not a want 
of material for traffic; the cod, ling, herring, turbot, and flDunders 
of the bay, the abundant trout, and salmon of the river, alone made 
a traffic worth calculating in the board-room of a judicious railway 
management Ten miles to the south, however, there was a gap in 
the shore-line hundreds of feet deep, into which the sea discharged 
itself with uncontrollable fury. Engineer after engineer had peeped 
over the edge of the gap, and clouds of briny vapor ascending to 
their faces, they stepped back saying that no bridge CDuld span the 
chasm. The last of the stage-coaches still ran, therefore, into Boul- 
derstone each day, and the horn of the guard wakened the echoes 
all along the river-side and through the town, as the coach rolled 
grandly into the court of Swanson’s inn. 

But Mr. Frazer and his daughter, coming on the scene a day ear' 
lier than they had announced, preferred a conveyance of their own. 
The innkeeper at Humster, knowing their destination, got a loan of 
the parish minister’s mare for the occasion; and, giving her as a 
yoke fellow a stout little horse of his own, the speculator and his 
daughter bowled through the fiat, treeless country at a great rate. 

Their servants came behind them at as rapid a pace as a horse 
wdth shaggy legs and a ’chapel-cart could convey them. 

Mr. Frazer was in no way changed by the winter that had gone 
over his head. If anything, he seemed more youthful than he had 
been before. 

He was quietly dressed, and more in the style of eight-and-twenty 


BOULDERSTONE. 


77 


than five-and-fifty, with his turn-over collar, his sailor-knot of corded 
silk, his rings, and his brick-red whiskers in the form of well- 
trimmed cliops. 

His manner of surveying thinors was not much changed. He had 
a way of looking out of the carriage that w'as not so much looking 
as peering furtively. What he really saw he saw with the tail of 
his eye, the straightforward range of his vision being a superfluity 
to him for all practical purposes. 

Caroline sat with a supremely bored expression on her face. Some- 
times she strained her head at the side of the carriage as if she ex- 
pected to see a horseman i^de up to accost them, but only to bring 
a new look of discontent on her frankly sensual countenance. 

“ Mercy mel” grumbled the girl, as the carriage rolled up a slope 
to the brow of a hill commanding the sea, “ 1 believe tliat’s Boul- 
derstone. What a black-looking place the castle is! I’m sure I'll 
die in this cold climate.” 

•‘Kov\, Carry, I’ve told you more than once,” said her father, 
sharply, ” that you must be more cheery. Dp you know what it 
means? That’s the castle you are to be mistress of. Bless me! it’s 
no’ so very long since we were residin’ in a three-room flat in the 
East End o’ Glasgow.” 

” I’m sure 1 wish you would drop that, papa. 1 remember noth- 
ing about the flat in the East End, and what’s the use of recalling 
it, when you have more money than you know what to do with?” 

“Ah, well, Carry, you may as well remember there’s something 
to be thankful for, instead of going into the Dutton family as dis- 
contented as you can look. The young man’ll expect you to be a 
trifle happy after so long a separation.” 

” Oh, it’s quite a town,” said Caroline, changing the conversa- 
tion; ” there’s a steeple with a bell and a clock, and the houses are 
quite grand at the river-side; and the castle’s warmer looking as 
you get nearer it.” 

But being driven through the park to the hall door, a slight sense 
of coldness returned. 

They had not been expected, and the dignified, if dilapidated, 
butler looked at them with a forbidding, not to say supercilious air, 
as he examined them for the first time. 

Then oir Keil had ridden into the country, and there was no tell- 
ing \/hen he might be back. Lady Dutton made up a little for it 
by a stately embrace of Caroline and a kiss on each cold cheek. 
And the ’chapel-cart having deposited a man and maid, with as 
much material as could make father and daughter i)resenlable— their 
heavy luggage being left for the carrier to bring next day— they 
were ushered into the rooms which had been prepared for them. 

‘‘ Jane,” said Caroline to her maid in the dainty boudoir off the 
bedroom that overlooked the garden and the sea-wall, ‘‘ 1 hope you 
have something in the flask, for Lady Dutton hasn’t oilered me any- 
thing, I’m perishing with cold.” 

” Yes, miss,” answered Jane, bringing out from the depths of a 
traveling- bag an ingenious bottle. ” But it’ll have a strong smell, 
miss, and that doesn’t look nice in the middle of the day.” 

“ Just a little though,” pleaded Caroline, wearily, as she brought 
her face into close proximity with the mirror. 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


78 

And the maid poured a little brandy into a glass before she began 
to tighten the little figure into its plumpest proportions. After ad- 
vancing, retiring, trimming, and adjusting her, Caroline looked as 
full of life andT gayety as ever. She need have no anxiety, one 
might have thought, in meeting the lord of the manor in the even- 
ing. 

She had lime to rest for some hours before Sir Neil had ridden 
back to the castle. It was six months since she had waved her 
handkerchief at him in the roadstead of Greenock. As the moment 
approached tor seeing him face to face, she became seriously alive 
to her dress and appearance. 

“Jane, I’m fit to break,” she exclaimed, at one moment, wrig- 
gling inside her tight skirts, but looking pretty enough in her dis- 
tress. 

“ Jane, jmu wouldn’t know it on me that I had taken anything?” 
she asked, approaching her red lips to the face of her maid, who 
cheered her by a prompt negative. 

“ Indeed, miss, you look beautiful, and the baronet will be ill to 
please if he doesn’t think it too.” 

A knock at the door, and a servant to say that Sir Neil Dutton 
was in the drawing-room, sent Caroline to take a last glance in the 
mirror, a hasty final adjustment l^y the maid, and then she was 
ready to come forth. 

Sir Neil was standing as she entered, in evening dress, outside the 
light of the lamps, partly in the shadow of the high-carved mantel- 
piece. 

Caroline paused as the door was closed behind her, and Sir Neil, 
clearing a space among tile couches and chairs that were gathered 
round the fireplace, was presently at her side. lie had sprung 
rapidly to meet her; he led her into the light in silence, quietly, 
gravely, and as be stooped to kiss her, it was with the slightest touch 
of his lips. 

“ Oh, Neil, you’ve been a long time away,” said the girl, turning 
her brown eyes to his face. 

“ A long tiu;e,” echoed Sir Neil, with both her hands in his left 
hand, and his right hand on her shoulder. A long time indeed, he 
felt, as he looked at her — this girl, who was to be his wife, and who 
was to take the difficult journby with him through tiie world. And 
the longer he looked, the more he felt that the width of the Atlantic 
was still between her and him. Neither of them spoke for a little, 
and Caroline, in a querulous, commonplace voice, asked did he 
“ mind Sardinia?” 

There was an implied rebuke in it. At Sardinia it was all cooing 
tenderness between them. 

“I’ve been on the Atlantic since then,” he replied, leading her 
to a seat; and for half an hour their conversation was chiefly 
pauses. 

The arrival of Mr. Frazer and Lady Dutton, and the announce- 
ment of dinner, interrupted them, when they had begun to talk as 
if they were acquaintances who had met for the first time, and who 
felt that there was little prospect of the acquaintanceship ripening 
into anything else. 

At dinner Sir Neil was, from time to time, terribly conscious that 


BOULDERSTONE. 


79 


in coming north to set matters right in the factor’s office at Boulder- 
stone, Mr. Frazer had introduced Caroline as a good business ex- 
pedient. 

Caroline, on the other hand, was piqued to find an nlteration in 
her lover’s behavior, and she attributed it— in so far as she explained 
it to herself — to the aristocratic surroundings. 

On board the yacht she had been a soft, yielding, dove-like girl 
of nineteen. Dinner was not half done at Boulderstone before she 
had broadly hinted in half a dozen ways that it. was in her father’s 
power to ouy most people up, and the consciousness of the fact 
maintained her without embarrassment amid some pauses of grow- 
ing awkwardness. 

“ It’s the first salmon I’ve tasted this year. Lady Dutton,” and 
she looked at the magnificent personage at the foot of the table. 

” They are the first that have been caught, but not by me,” said 
Sir Neil. ” My river is really among the earliest in Scotland.” 

jMr. Frazer’s side-glance surveyed the baronet as he talked of 

my river.” 

” They have begun with the stake nets, 1 suppose, at the bar,” 
he rejoined, conscious in some way that Caroline and the baronet 
were not understanding each other as they used to do. But he was 
not put out, having a secure faith in the power of circumstances to 
place matters on a sound business footing. 

” Yes, but they have not begun to catch yet.” 

” That’ll not pay,” remarked Caroline, with an intonation that 
sounded curiously objectionable to the Duttons. 

Lady Dutton, in particular, took alarm; she never had the slightest 
idea herself when a certain condition of things was likely to pay or 
lose in this world. She had taken measurement of Caroline’s 
powers, and it had been her opinion that she was profoundly 
neutral in her tastes, and as impracticable as her son’s future wife 
should be. She scented danger, therefore, in the very turn of the 
remark. 

‘‘1 would think, Caroline,” said her father, abruptly, “you 
would leave the like of that to me. She knows nothing about it, 
ma’am,” he explained to the alarmed Lady Dutton. 

“Dear me, I’m sure the mutton is just like venison,” pursued 
the pragmatical Caroline later on. “ How does it get that nice 
taste?” 

“ Our good heather partl}^ and partly your very healthy appetite,” 
answered Sir Neil, whose sense of hospitality was gratified by the 
glow of delight on the girl’s face as she fed herself. 

“ Do you know,” she ejaculated, as she leaned back after secur- 
ing the breast of a fowl, “ this is the queerest country 1 was ever in; 
there wasn’t a crow on the road or on the fields all the way along.” 

“ It's the want of timber,” said Mr. Frazer, a little proud of his 
daughter’s superior observation. “ 1 think we might do something 
to rectify that,” he added, in the voice he used in the board-rooms 
of various companies. 

“ The surface of the country is so exposed to the wind that 1 
should have little hope of wood growing. There’s some tradition 
of ray grandfather having planted extensively without much sur- 
viving beyond a few mountain ashes. Besides, the Boulderstone 


80 


BOULDEESTONE. 


folks seem to have a private enmity to trees. 1 caught a boy among 
the limes at the sea-wall hacking a branch away, lie said that he 
wanted it for ‘ knotty,’ and he wouldn’t do it again, and that an 
old woman was teaching him to be a sailor. We became great 
friends over the transaction.” 

Mr. Frazer’s sense of justice was shocked, and it came natural to 
him to say, ” He deserved imprisonment, the young blackguard. 1 
hope you have his name. Sir Neil?” 

‘‘ (ih yes, he let me have his name. Heatherhead, 1 believe he 
called himself.” 

” How could an old woman teach him to be a sailor?” 

‘‘ Many of the women here are amphibious. 1 don’t quite know 
how this particular old woman teaches Heatherhead, but he seemed 
to talk with a perfect good faith. 1 suspect she is a character. She 
is the presiding deity at som(5 launch that is to come off one of these 
days. I dare say we shall hear more of her.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AT THE FERRY. 

Between the bridge and the river-mouth there was a ferry-boat 
which plied for hire. " A gate from the Boulderstone Gardens led to 
the road, and from the road to the river-bank where the old ferry- 
man received his lares. He and his boat weie on the town side of 
the river as Bertha came along the road, on a fresh spring evening,, 
and stood by the little wharf of Norwegian pine. 

Bertha had been walking on the east cliffs beyond the castle that 
evening, and in her hand was a trophy of the \valk in the -shape of 
a bunch of primroses and violets, gathered among the grassy slopes 
and dimples in which the east cliff culminated. 

She was standing at the wharf looking down the river and toward 
the sea, and it was in that attitude Sir Neil Dutton first saw her, as 
he suddenly emerged from the gardens b}’’ the little gate on the 
same spring evening. 

The sight of her arrested his steps, and he paused for a moment. 
The tall, finely-formed figure, clad in dark serge, the bright, earnest 
face looking wistfully toward the sea, and the rays of the sun 
glancing among her hair — he could not choose but pause. 

She was waiting for the ferry-man; that he saw at a glance. But 
who was she? What could be more unexpected than to come upon 
this stately, beautiful figure on the outer side of his garden wall? 

” There is no boatman,” he said, quietly, behind her, as if he 
had known her lor a life time. 

But his voice was lower than he intended; it hardly^ reached her, 
or she did not hear it. She seemed wholly unconscious of anything 
except the gleams of sunlight on the river, the chafing of the waves 
beyond the bar, the plains of dark sea further out, and the horizoti 
of clouds piling themselves up in masses tinted with the pink and 
saffron ot the setting sun. 

“The boatman has forsaken his post,” repealed Sir Neil in a 
louder tone; and turning from the sea she met his kind glance. 


BOULDERSTOKE. 81 

Bertha did not start, nor show confusion nor surprise; she received 
her outward impressions with perfect calmness. 

“ 1 begin to fear the old man will not come back again. Besides, 
as he has double duty to perform, he may be in the parish church- 
yard.'’ 

“ Or the Whale’s Head, 1 am told he is often inside that mon- 
ster; a kind of Jonah, without any desire for deliverance.” 

Bertha smiled, and Sir Neil said, ” 1 am going over too, and 1 
wish he could be got hold of. I wonder if ‘ Boat ahoy ’ would 
bring him.” And the young man, putting his hand to his mouth, 
spoke across the river, which the inflowing tide had widened out of 
its usual proportions. ‘‘ Boat ahoy, there!” 

” The old man is very jealous of his boat,” said Bertha. "He 
padlocks and removes the oars when he is not in it. 1 tear there is 
no chance of his coming again to-night. He may really be in the 
grave-yard, for a little boy is to be buried to-morrow.” 

” Ah! It is enough to make one think the Boulder is the Styx 
and the ferry-man old Charon. And my kennel is near enough, 
and the noise of the dogs loud enough, to give one the impression 
that Cerberus may be somewhere about.” 

Sir Neil did not add that th<^ vision of Bertha suggested to him a 
figure from the Greek cosmology. 

Bertha knew now that it was the lord of the manor who spoke to 
her, and said respectfully, but with no alteration in her voice, 
” You are Sir Neil Dutton.” 

Her quiet serenity had a queenliness in it that shook the baronet’s 
familiarity of tone. 

He faltered slightly as he raised his hat, murmuring, ‘‘ May 1 
ask—” 

” Bertha St. Clair.” 

” What! the old woman dressed in tarpaulin, with a voice like a 
saw, who teaches the young thieves of Boulderstoue to be sailors? 
But, 1 beg your pardon,” he went on, as Bertha looked puzzled; ” 1 
have heard of you, and lor some reason or other you were asso- 
ciated in my mind with a masculine form of the sort 1 have rather 
rudely described.” 

They had begun to move along the road, and Sir Neil asked her 
if she were not afraid of being on a solitary highway frequented by 
a good many tinkers. 

‘‘I’ve just come from one of their caves— the cave in the cliff 
beyond your castle. The little boy wiio is to be buried to morrow 
lies in his coffin among a crow’d of tinkers.” 

“And you mean to tell me that you have been in the heart of 
that drunken, violent set of scoundrels, alone and without protec- 
tion? Why, they are the terror of the castle. You surprise me. 
Your courage—” 

“ It requires no courage; I have nothing to fear from them. I 
have gone among them for years and received nothing bub kind- 
ness.” 

“ Nothing but kindness! Why, we were just putting ourselves 
in correspondence with the police authorities so as to clear the shore 
of them. One of these days they must be swept out.” 

“ Swept out!” and Bertha’s voice slightly trembled. 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


82 

“ Why, yes; don’t you know there is a very experienced politi- 
cian living at the castle just now— Mr. Frazer, you may have heard 
ot him. He is a genuine, thorough-going politician, and he sug- 
gests a halter apiece for them.” 

” How biutal!” 

‘‘AVell, then, what would you suggest? You have been going 
among them a great deal. Ton know them, 1 dare say, better than 
most people. What would you suggest?” 

“ Most of them are clever workmen. 1 have basket chairs in my 
sitting-room made by a tinker; many of my kitchen things are 
made by them. Some ot their boys can make artificial flies — ” 

“ And can catch salmon, 1 dare say.” 

“ Yes, and can catch salmon. Why should you drive them out 
of their caves? By degrees they were coming into the town and 
doing honest work. If you drive them out those tinkers who settled 
to work in the town will join them, and all the good they have 
learned will be undone.” 

Sir Neil slackened his pace as they stepped from the road to a 
meadow which skirted the river. It was a low-lying meadow, its 
grass nipped close by the sheep, and as it was overrun by every 
high tide, its surface was honey-combed with chasms in which the 
brackish water remained some feet deep. He paused before the 
first chasm, and would have gone round; but, with her flowers in 
one hand and dress deftly gathered in the other, Bertha sprung 
lightly across. He followed with surprise. Another and yet an- 
other pool of water intervened, and still Bertha led. 

yir Neil had not had such jumping for years, and, though he was 
something of an athlete, he was sufficiently out of practice to be a 
little out ot breath by the time the meadow was halt crossed. It 
was twilight now; a star here and there was piercing the heavens; 
their reflections were in all the pools. There was nothing tor it but 
to follow the girl’s lead, if he wished to get over dry-shod. 

By the time they had come to the end of the field he had almost 
forgotten about the tinkers, and was constructing a compliment to 
her athleticism which she might take without ofllense; but they had 
no sooner settled down again to their walking pace than Bertha 
began : 

” There are several tinker families 1 have been able to get into 
town who are just like their neighbors now — as regular and re- 
spectable as possible. And 1 expect some more to come in shortly. 
There w^as a missionary among them for some time— a good man, 
who preached to them. But the tinker boys pelted him with clods, 
and the women swore at him, and he had to go away to avoid being 
shocked. He has since written a very useless book about them. 
They are not so bad as they are called; and it they are bad, they 
are capable of improving by being brought into town.” 

“ 1 assure you. Miss St. Clair, 5mur views are most valuable. We 
are just coiisidering these questions now at the castle a good deal. 
Only w^e rather incline— at least, Mr. Frazer does— to think that it 
would be better for the town if there were fewer inhabitants in it 
than there are. There would be better living, don’t you see, for 
each if there w^ere fewer to compete with. We are in negotiation 
for a block of houses at this ver}’^ moment with one Captain Jan- 


BOULDERSTONE. 


83 


sen. The gentleman ^vho is inannging these things for me proposes 
to take them down, as a first s.tep toward relieving Boulderstone of 
the surplus population which is t'-oublinir it.” 

“And what,” exclaimed Bertha, stopping short and facing Sir 
Neil in the starlight, “do you suppose the people will do when 
their homes are taken down?” 

“ Oh, these things adjust themselves by an economical law. If 
the people don’t find homes here they will go where they can find 
both homes aijd employment. There is a law of that sort, just like 
gravitation, you know,' Miss St. Clair.” 

“ A-4hw, yes — there is a law; when the people are turned out of 
their homes they will for a little time starve with their friends, and 
then they will join the tinkers. Some of them will die; the old, 
the sick, and the very young will die. That law of nature’s fram- 
ing is siire enough of being fulfilled.” 

Sir Neil felt profoundly uncomfortable at that moment. He 
would have liked to have been overpowering and dogmatic, but 
what could he do with a young lady who pelted his “ laws ” with 
facts? 

“ But,” said Bertha, as she resumed her way, “ they will not be 
allowed to die or to go to the caves. Captain Jansen will put the 
case before me ” — she spoke as if she were a judge — “ and 1 will 
decide that the houses are not to be sold.” 

“Then you are my enemy,” said the baronet, gajdy; “and I 
shall not be able to carry out my schemes of reform in the com- 
munity if you array yourself against me.” 

“ Heaven forbid 1 5-011 will think me very forward and interfer- 
ing. 1 have been hasty in speaking as 1 have done. But there is 
so much to do in Boulderstone to make its people happ 5 % and there 
are so many "wrong ways of doing it. Oh, sir, 1 woukl rather ask 
to be allowed to help 5 ’^our good work of reform than to hinder it.” 

The}" were standing on the bridge now, looking over the lighted 
town. For a few moments he leaned his elbows on the parapet, 
and saw the stars shining in reflection from the river. 

“ 1 shall have to come to you for ideas,” he said. “ You have 
been here for years. You naturally know more of the wants of 
Boulderstone than any other person.” 

“ If 1 could be of any help,” said Bertha; and they shook hands 
in the twilight. 


CHAPTER XX. 

MEETING THE TOWN. 

Mr. Frazer had warned Sir Neil that it would be better not to 
accept public rejoicings, and the advice coincided with the baronet’s 
own feelings on the subject. Nevertheless, he had consented to 
open the battery; so that ]\Ir. Frazer had no excuse to urge when 
he was asked to join the party. He had not been across the river 
or down the town yet, it was true; but the sooner he saw Boulder- 
stone en masse the better it would be. And the opening of the bat- 
tery "W'as a red-letter day. 

There was a general running to do honor to the two ponderous 


84 


bouldeksto:ne. 


instruments of destruction that had been dragged to the west cliff. 
In every house there was a certain amount ot martial feeling pre- 
dominant. The corps which had been embodied by Banker Manson 
and drilled into marching efficiency by Drummer Budge, consisted 
of laborers from the quarries, shop assistants from the High Street, 
a sprinkling of fisliermen, and a few hinds from the neitrhboiing 
farm bothies. Their drill had been conducted in private within the 
Town Hall, so that the day on which they were to exhibit them- 
selves as a grand defensive apparatus was looked forward to with 
no little interest by the entire populace. 

Early in the morning, therefore, and while the members ot the 
artillery corps were as yet pouring oil into the hollow of their hands, 
and carefully flattening their hair in front of slabs of looking-glass, 
the shrill sound of half a score of flutes was asserting itself all over 
Boulderstone. It was Mr. Smith’s band reminding the town that 
it “didn’t want to flght,’’ etc. So that by half-past ten o’clock, 
when Sir Neil Dutton handed his mother and Miss Frazer out of 
their carriage at the front door ot Swanson’s inn, and Mr. Frazer 
followed them into the general room, commanding a view of a 
surging crowd beneath, the air was rent with shouts. 

Into this room, from the windows of which the crowd spied, with 
increasing manifestations of delight, the spacious person of Lady 
Dutton and the light little flgure of Miss Frazer, w^ere brought one 
by one the more important citizens of Boulderstone. 

These included the procurator-fiscal, who* as factor to some land- 
owning familes beyond the bounds of the Boulderstone pioperty, 
had acquired considerable means. 

He had been enrolled as an officer of artillery under Banker IMan- 
son, who, in full uniform, now introduced him to the ladies. The 
banker himself, with his rotund figure and his ba d pate, looked 
rather unliKe a man of martial disposition and oflice', and as he 
stepped forward to the window, pufling nervously and endeavoring 
to square his shoulders to the correct fighting attitude, he seemed 
like a red and white gnotne. 

Lady Dutton, however, was encouraging, notwithstanding the 
keenness of her hawk’s eye; and the banker having marched him- 
self into a respectful proximity to her ladyship, the introductions 
came oil quite successfully. 

The procurator-fiscal retired precipitately, his sword between his 
legs, to make room for minor ofiicers like Lieutenants Reid and 
Kidd, who, the former blushing down to the top of his stock, the 
latter pale with agitation, ambled into position, bowed, remained si- 
lent when addressed, and, on retiring, abruptly bowled each other 
against the door-posts. 

“ They are new to it, your ladyship,” said Mr. Petersen, the tall, 
kindly-looking parish minister, who, though he had been appointed 
chaplain, contented himself with great wisps of linen at his throat 
and breast, as full uniform for him. 

“ And 1 hope,” he added, parenthetically, in virtue of his peace- 
ful office,^ “ they will never need to be in better training.'' 

To which Dr. Dick, as surgeon to the corps, remarked to Mr 
Frazer that “if they were to be trained at all, they had better be 
trained to perfection ” 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


85 


And Mr. Frazer, who had been looking upon the introductions 
from the tail of his gray eye in a neutral manner, said he “ hoped it 
would never matter one way or other.” 

To get the corps marched fiom Boulderstone to the battery was 
no easy task. True, halt the sight-seers had already gone out tothe 
cliff to take up their positions, where the Freemasons had ranged 
themselves, with their top-hats and their blue aprons dashed with 
spangles. But the other half was still blocking up the streets or the 
road between the inn and the cliff, in their eagerness to see the first 
march past of their own corps. 

Besides. Lady Dutton and ‘‘ the gentry ” in general were standing 
at the open window of the inn, looking down at the crowded court- 
yard, where the evolutions were going on. 

” Fall in!” shouted a stentorian but slightly cracked voice from 
the midst of the yard; and immediately a great elbowing took place 
from the crowd, and red-striped figures here and there gathered to- 
gether, and a line w'as formed. “Number off,” yelled the same 
voice, and Budge, the drummer, hobbled up and down in the space 
which had been cleared, the wooden stump clothed with the trou- 
sers, and the drumming arm scored with the marks ot a sergeant. 
Budge had suddenly risen in the world, and as he cast his eyes over 
the fellow-townsmen who submitted themselves to his orders, he 
felt how easy it would have been for him to have rivaled Sir Colin 
Campbell, had he only had the chance. 

“ Present arms! Carry arms! Trail arms!”— Budge did not say 
“ arms,” he said “ awe!” and allowed the sound to die away in the 
distance, just as if he had been a live officer at Stirling Castle — fol- 
lowed each other in quick succession, and there was a general shift- 
ing ot carbines, during which, to the intense delight ot the smaller 
spectators, many muzzles and butt-ends came into contact with the 
heads, shoulders, and legs of the corps itself. Indeed, the shouts of 
irreverent laughter that rose from the irrepressible critics who were 
not members ot the corps, showed Sir Niel that it was lime for him 
to descend from the window to confer upon the proceedings a prop- 
erly serious aspect. 

“Oh, Lord! Geordie Waters,” gasped one fellow with a head 
ot stubble, pointing to a comrade, whom he hardly recognized in 
his martial gearing. 

“ Look at boo-legged Sandy Duncan,” said another, singling out 
a well-meaning tailor, who was doing his best to support the un- 
wonted burden of a carbine. 

“ 1 declare, if that’s no’ Thamson’s Dumpy A lick,” shouted a 
third. 

So that when Sir Niel got on horseback, amid cheers, and rode 
out in front of them, his presence was very much wanted. 

But the corps got to its destination somehow, and the baronet’s 
party, including Mr. Hew Brock and one or two neighboring pro- 
prietors, who had ridden in to be spectators, took up their position 
on a raised dais at the side of the battery, so that the effects of the 
shots upon the red target in the bay might be seen and applauded. 

First of all. Lady Dutton was led along by her son to a position 
on the right of one ot the guns. How Lady Dutton had so far for- 


86 


BOULDEIiSTOKE. 


gotten her valetudinarianism as to stand up beside a cannon and do 
that sJiowy service only requires a word of explanation. 

Dr, DicR had treated her to various “ shocks,” which she admit- 
ted had a reviving eftect. 11 she stood the shock ot the noise of the 
cannon, he promised her a long lease ot lile. Then her life, since 
her withdrawal from society, had been so meager and uneventful 
that she was glad to have an opportunity of asserting her dignity in 
the face of a crowd, and in the home ot her late husband’s influence. 

It had been ari’anged beforehand that she should fire the first shot, 
and very courageous and magnificent her ladyshiplooked to the eyes 
of the assembled crowd as she stepped up to the guns, and, y\'ithout 
a visible tremor, held the string in her hands and waited the signal 
to pull. 

No doubt it was annoying, after the signal was given and the 
string had been tugged, to find that gunners Troil and Hay had for- 
gotten to put in the ammunition. 

A little delay soon put that to rights, and the second time Lady 
Dutton pulled, the cannon sent forth a flash, and gave so loud a 
crack that her ladyship’s heart leaped within her, and her pulse 
quickened by a score of beats. She emerged from the smoke, how- 
ever, calm and dignified, while on every side of her shrieks ot 
amazement rose in the air. 

A good deal had been expected; but it was certainly not antici- 
pated that the noise of the gun would have so ear-splitting an effect. 
As Lady Dutton walked to the dais at the side of the battery, thsre- 
fore, escorted by the palpitating banker, it was not surprising that 
most respectable dames should only be recovering from halt-taint- 
ing fits. Indeed, it w^as only pride that kept Lady Dutton herself 
from tottering; but pride did it, and when she had got to her ele- 
vated chair and resumed her 'pince-nez to look at the target, the 
swelliug of the cheers re-established her confidence completely. Nor 
would she consent to take anything out of the flask which Mr. Hew 
Brock handed to her ; Miss Frazer had been compelled to take a lit- 
tle out of it to bring her feeling back to equilibrium. 

” How ever did you do it, Lady Dutton?” asked that young lady, 
revived by the stimulant, and handing back the flask with a know- 
ing look to Mr. Brock. “ 1 would have died with fright before I 
could have done it.” 

‘‘You have good nerves, ma’am,” said Mr. Frazer from the 
background, where he was endeavoring to conceal his disgust at the 
whole proceedings. 

But it took all Lady Dutton’s nerves to keep from manifesting 
some sort of emotion; and as she kept her eye fixed on the red tar- 
get in the sea, she prudently said nothing. 

The first big gun practice was far from demolishing the target. 
The shots played all about it, the effect in the distance being as if a 
school of whales were blowing — an analogy that suggested "itself to 
every observer present who saw outside the battery. 

It they did not smash the target, however, the corps learned that 
day how to load and discharge; and after they had fallen into line, 
and after Banker Manson had led oft some rounds of complimentary 
cheers, the baronet stepped forward and said: 

” Friends (loud cheers), you don’t need any words of mine (yes. 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


87 


ves) to be assured that the day’s proceedings have been entirely sat- 
isfactory. 1 am not, you know, a military man, though I have 
occupied the honorable position of commanding officer (loud cheers); 
but 1 have seen a little of this kind of thing both at home arid 
abroad, and 1 assuT-e you 1 consider that in having shot away a 
couple of bags of powacr and no end of iron, we have, for a first at- 
tempt, done very well. You have heard a good deal lately about a 
Russian cruiser standing in from the offing. (Laughter, uproar, and 
cheers.) Well, 1 think it that cruiser should feel inclined to look 
in upon Boulderstone in the event of war, we shall be able to give 
him a reception which he would not forget.” (“Wad .ye smash 
him like the target?” asked an impudent observer from the crowd.) 
“ We would not be so careful of his integrit.y as we have been of the 
cask on the horizon, which survives to be aimed at another day. 
(Laughter.) And in any event, we should be prepared to make a 
noise, which, against an enemy like the Russians, would count for 
a good deal. (Laughter.) 1 hope, however, that the day will never 
come for us to require to use the loud-speaking couple whose mettle 
we have to-day tested. We don’t want to fight, as the band has 
been telling us all the morning. W'e want to live at peace with all 
the world (hear, hear, from ]\Ir. Frazer, followed by disappointment 
on the countenances of everybody); at peace, to go on doing the 
work that lies nearest to our hands — plowing our fields, laying our 
lines down into the deep, and polishing our paving stones. (Cheers.) 
VV'‘ith the best intentions, however, we may still be assaulted, and 
in the hour of assault we must know how to defend ourselves. But 
there is another reason why 1 must tell you of my pleasure at see- 
ing you here to-day. 1 am afraid,” looking from a group of round- 
shouldered fishermen to a crowd of very small boys in a corner, 
gathered round a tall girl with golden hair, who was leaning for- 
W'ard to catch his words, “ 1 am afraid the nature of your pursuits 
here don’t always give you the chance of holding yourselves as 
erect and upright as you might be. You have to stoop to the plow, 
you have to bend to the oars, you are doubled at the pavement 
w’orks. But a little of this drill, under the tuition of my friend 
Sergeant Budge (applause, and some jealous murmuring), will as- 
sist you to that uprightness of walk and smartness of dress and 
cleanliness of person (laughter) which industry sometimes destroys. 
Whether you have to fight or not, then, it seems to me that our big 
guns will be of some service in the community. 1 cordially hope 
the}’’ may; and if I can be of any use to the newly made corps, do 
not hesitate to call on me. This, 1 trust, is only the beginning of 
a much closer relationship in the future.” (Loud cheers.) 

Sir Niel’s mild oration made a good impression on the assembled 
multitude. There was at first a long outburst of applause, and then 
subdued murmurs of approval, as different groups took it up, and 
discussed it. His part in the day’s work was then completed. 

“ Who is the young person in the corner of the battery with the 
children?” asked Lady Dutton, as she poised her pince-nez io \oo\i 
at Bertha. 

Her son had bowed with special reference to her as they drove 
away. But she got no reply. 


88 


BOULliEKSTONE. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE TURN ROUND ABOUT. 

Mr. Frazer had a programme to offer at breakfast next morn- 
ing, and though he was aware lhq,t there had been an increase of 
pleasant looks from the baronet to his daughter, he thought it would 
do no harm to either of them to put it into Immediate execution. 

He would like to take a turn round about, he said, and see tilings 
for himself. It would be better if Sir Keil could come with him. 
Sir Neil, indeed, was not so well acquainted wiih the outs and ins 
of the Boulderstone estates as to deny that a turn round would be 
in the nature of a novelty to him. Lady Dutton had several schemes 
on hand for engaging the attention of Caroline throughout the day, 
so Mr. Frazer and Sir Neil stepped into a dog-cart and drove off 
rapidly. 

“ You will want to see the town first of all; we can spend an 
hour or so going through it, and then we will follow the road by 
the cliff westward. That takes us to the edge of the properly, five 
miles along, on that side. We can then strike into the country and 
come out again upon the river ten miles to the south of the distill- 
ery. Old Mackie will give us a good glass of whisky there, 1 dare 
say; though he and my father were on rather poor terms.” 

They drove into the town past the little loll-house at the bridge, 
where a stout, clear-skinned woman courtesied as they passed, and 
blushed her satisfaction as the baronet bestowed a pleasant word 
upon her. 

“ AVe’ll go to the bank first of all,” suggested Mr. Frazer. So at 
the solid mansion of sandstone, standing in a space by itself outside 
the square where the markets of Boulderstone were periodically 
held, the dog-cart pulled up, and the pair invaded the parlor of the 
local money changer. 

The banker ushered his great visitors into his sanctum with an 
admirable vocabulary of obeisance. The red-headed senior clerk at 
the counter went over his master’s movements in a tacit pantomime 
as soon as the door had been closed behind him for the edification 
of the junior clerk, who had been a year in training, and for the 
more junior clerk still, whose awe at the spectacle of pound notes 
in bulk had rrot yet forsaken him. 

In a few minutes the party came out, the banker rubbing his 
hands, for Mr. Frazer had opened an account which w'ould have 
swamped the deposits of fifty ordinary customers, and the baronet 
had been extremely affable. 

‘‘ That man talks about thousands, Mr. Smith, as if they were 
florins,” said the banker to the red- headed clerk, ‘‘ and I’ni much 
mistaken if he does not do something for the town and trade that’ll 
make the bank of Boulderstone one of the most important branches 
in the connection.” 

‘‘ That’ll be good for the salaries, sir, 1 hope,” sirggested Mr. 
Smith, with a humility in the tone of his voice out of all proportion 
to his recent exercise in pantomime. 


BOULDEllSTOXE. 


89 


" ]yiaybe ay aud maybe no, ]\Ir. Smith; the bearing of it 1 bad in 
my mind is upon the interests ot the town at large, and not upon 
Ihe pockets of individuals in particular. But there are persons that 
can only take the narrow view ot things,” he concluded, with a 
snort ot disgust. 

Mr. Smith was silent, though he gradually edged his thumb .to 
his nose, and maneuvered himself into a safe position, so that the 
junior clerk should be properly impressed with his general contempt 
for bald-headed authority. 

The banker, Mr. Manson, was a little piqued at the silence which 
succeeded. He had been closeted with a great capitalist, and with 
the lord ot the manor, and yet his head-clerk never put a question 
to elicit any information. 

“ Do you not understand,” he suddenly exploded, ” that Mr. 
Frazer is a millionaire; that he holds securities in land, and has in- 
terests in America and the colonies that are said to amount to more 
than the total capital of the bank we serve?” 

” Tou don’t say so, sir.” 

” 1 do say so, and what is more, Mr. Charles Frazer uses his 
means so that no man can say of him that it is for his own selfish 
interests. No man is more respected in the South.” 

Mr. Smith immediately resolved that he should be appointed pa- 
tron of the flute band ot which he was leader, that he should be 
asked to subscribe to the cricket club, and that the defunct debat- 
ing society should be resuscitated, as a means ot conveying soiiie 
more guineas from the pocket ot the millionaire so long as he was 
in the neighborhood. 

3Ieanwhile, Sir Neil and Mr. Frazer having strolled into the High 
Street introduced themselves to Mr. Harkness, the postmaster, who, 
with a stick of sealing-wax in one hand and a letter-bag in the 
other, and his spectacles far up his eyebrow, followed them to the 
door in a high condition of obsequiousness. Then as they advanced 
down the pathw’ay the town-drummer, who was beating a splendid 
military reteille over a cargo of coals which had arrived that morn- 
ing at the river-mouth, and which were announced as of a superior 
cheapness, drew up in the midst of his rat-tat-tat, to give a military 
salute to the baronet. 

” Well, Budge, you haven’t forgotten that magnificent drum- 
beat,” said Sir Neil, stepping out to shake hands with the munici- 
pal hmetionary. 

“ No, your honor. 1 played Sir Colin Campbell into Delhi with 
that rattle, and it cost me a leg, and I’m not likely to forget it. 
Much obliged to you. sir;” and the drummer retired with a half a 
crown shaken into his hand. 

Then came Kirstin Small, with her basket, of codfish under her 
arm, and courtesying, told the baronet a pitiful tale of a husband 
bedridden and twelve ot a family supported by the oldest son. 
Kirstin also retired with some silver between her fingers, wliich, 
where the “ jile” showed its barred windows, encouraged ‘‘feel 
Sandy ” to approach with a look ot expectation on his face, and he, 
too. had a gift given him. 

From the High Street to the Brae-head was no distance, and as 
Ihe pair emerged there was a score ot fishermen sitting on the seat 


90 


BOULDERSTONE. 


under the shed fronting the broad sea, while at the llag-staft stood 
a brisk-looking man, with a brown face, pausing tor a moment in 
his walk to gaze about him. 

“ Well, l^ds, how is the weather to-day?” said Sir Neil, pleas- 
antly, stepping in among them to tap the barometer, which stood in 
the center of the shed. 

‘‘Falling, falling— stormy weather, 1 tear, in store torus,” he 
added, addressing at random one old sou’- westered head. 

‘‘Ay, ay. Sir Neil Dutton, it’ll be stormy weather gey an’ soon, 
I’m tiiinkin’,” piped the old man in question, as if he were an- 
nouncing a prophecy. 

‘‘ What, Dykes, is this you, my old friend? Still in the land of 
the living, and likely to be for scfee long time to come. Why you 
miraculous old man, you’re younger than you were when you fished 
me out of the pool at the back of the castle. This is the ‘ oldest 
inhabitant,’ Mr. Frazer.” 

Mr. Frazer eyed him sideways, as if he were a lobster or some 
other crustacean with habits that you could not predict. 

” You must be ninety, Dykes, if you are a day.” 

‘‘ It’s all that, sir,’' said Dykes, enjoying to the full the impor- 
tance of seniority. ‘‘ lhavena been up the toon past the square for 
twenty years.” 

‘‘ 1 dare say the churches are an obstacle,” said Sir Neil to his 
friend, dispensing at the same time the half-crown of charity. 

Is this our friend Captain Jansen at the flag-staff?” asked Mr. 
Frazer. 

‘‘ Yes, Captain Jansen, sir,” said half a dozen voices; and the 
captain, hearing his name mentioned, joined the group with a 
trank, ‘‘Morning, gentlemen.” 

” Do you sail from this place, cap’n?” inquired Mr. Frazer, who 
then saw him face to face for the first time, and looked him all over 
from head to foot. 

“ Not 1, sir. 1 believe I’m done with the sea now. Anyway, 1 
have nothing more to do than come down here and look at tne ships 
and yarn with the lads a bit.'’ 

Mr. Frazer made a movement with his nostrils as if he must in- 
hale an odor of bad spirits in the neighborliood of a man so idly 
disposed, and suggested to the baronet that they had better be 
going. 

“ Well, what do you think of my town?” asked Sir Neil when 
they had driven out of the west side of it in the direction of the 
small stream where the permanent industry was in operation. 

” 1 would like to drive a fire-engine through it and squirt the 
hose on them. It’s well seen they have been under Tory domination : 
a pack of beggars.” 

Sir Neil accepted the joke for what it was worth and smiled. 

Mr. Frazer continued, ‘‘Do you know, 1 wonder at you giving 
money out of your pocket on the public streets to one and another of 
these people. If there’s anything mat sets up my back it’s that. If 
I were to die this moment, 1 would die with the feeling that 1 have 
never throughout all my public career given a single penny to a 
beggar at my door or to a person importuning me on the streets.” 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


91 

“ Come, that perhaps accounts for your position as a millionaire," 
replied Sir Neil, piqued a little at the tone of the criticism. 

Mr. Frazer saw he was allowing his irritation to get the belter of 
him, and set off on a new tack. — 

“ 1 take it on the ground of political principles purely. What 
would Adam Smith or Ricdrdo or Cobden say to it?” 

JVir. Frazer had not the remotest idea what they might have said 
to it, but lie knew that Sir !Neil Dutton, as an embryo politieian, 
had been dipping into all three. 

” Well, if you put it on that ground, of course there’s nothing to 
he said for it." Budge, 1 dare say, will spend his half-crown at the 
Whale’s Head, Ivirstin may indulge in unlimited potations of tea, 
and Dykes — Heaven knows what Dykes at ninety can do w-ith half 
a crown. But 1 haven’t quite made up iny mind yet about political 
economy. It is undeniably bad to encourage idleness. But to 
translate the propositions of political economy into practice at the 
corners of every street seems to me too much of a cood thing.” 

“ Where will you begin, if you don’t begin at the corners of the 
streets? And these beggars, there’s no law for them but the hose.” 

They now drove into the 5 ’’ards beside the stream, where the cap- 
italist really began to pick up his spirits a little. There was a re- 
spectable-sized brick chimney at the further end of the yard, and it 
smoked. There were about fifty frameworks and stands, on which 
one flag-stone w^as hard at work polishing the face of its neighbor. 
Carts were unloading, and men’s voices were mingling in a con- 
fused sound that made music to Mr. Frazer’s ear. A door opened 
into a machine-room beside the chimney, and the capitalist, step- 
ping down from the dog cart, looked radiant. He stood for a few 
moments with the warm flavor of oil coming out to him, and when 
he turned to Sir Neil his visage wore a look of satisfaction. 

“ We can make something out of this, 1 think. But oh, they’re 
primitive. What are the yards here tor, eh? They have to cart to 
and from this place, when they might do the whole thing at the 
river-side.” 

” Well, 1 never thought of that; but it would be inconveniently 
near the garden-wall of Boulderstone, don’t you think?” 

Mr. Frazer said nothing, but he took notes and made up his mind 
on the spot. 

From the pavement yards they drove some miles further round to 
the harbor and light-house, on the inside of the Sandstone Head, 
above which the village of Sandstone had its score or tw’o of fami- 
lies located in straw-thatched cottages. Before the village was 
reached there was a stiff pull some hundred feet up a brae, wdiich 
hardly seemed to improve Mr. Frazer's temper. 

“ And this is Sandstone!” he exclaimed. ” It’s partly yours and 
Brock’s.” 

“You seem to know the property better than 1 do hryself,” re- 
joined Sir Neil; and the pair walked from cottage to cottage. 

Most of the men were out lobster-fishing, so there was not much 
opportunity for taking stock of their appearance. But enough was 
exhibited to sustain the displeasure of Mr. Frazer. 

‘‘ 1 can not congratulate 3 ^ou on your tenants. Sir Neil. Bairns, 
bairns, bairns, plenty of them and to spare— a dozen to a cotl {rge,” 


BOULDEESTOKE. 


92 

he continued, as a cluster of woolly-pated youngstei;s gathered at 
the doors to peer with open mouths at the new arrivals. ‘‘ And 
they all have their patch of land, and a poor use they make of it. It 
is nice land, too. ” 

Sir Neil looked in at one open door, where the same old man in a 
red cotton nightcap, who was so rudely burst in upon by Mr. Hew 
Brock a short lime before, was still administering blows to the heel 
of a huge sea-boot. He was sitting at that moment in a pathway of 
sunlight, and the baronet pointed him out. 

“Well, there’s energy for yon, at any rate. You couldn’t beat 
that in any workship in the kingdom.” 

Their shadows went athwart the old cobbler, and looking up, he 
rose, came forward, and touched his forelock. 

“ What’s your wull, gentlemen? Sir, I’m glad to see your father’s 
son among us again,” he added, as he recognized the baronet. 

“ Well, Spence, the village is all at sea except yourself and the 
children. How are you?” 

“Finely, Sir Neil; and how’s her leddyship?” wiping a knife 
upon the edge of his leather apron. “Will ye do me the honor, 
sir, to step across my door?” 

“ Not this time,” said Sir Neil, as his companion passed on, peel- 
ing, with a slightly contorted visage, among the dung-heaps, the 
gardens, the muddy ducks, and the weather-beaten hens. “ How 
is the lobster-hshing getting along?” 

“Just middlin’, sir. We’ve had a heap o’ damage wi’ the great 
north-easter o’ the 18th o’ March. No man ever predicted such a 
high tide as yon, and we’ve but a couple o’ boats among us. But 
we should be well pleased we are no worse. They lost six at 
Boulderstone, and some o’ them, I’m told, is hard put to it for a bit 
noo.” 

Mr. Frazer was by this time standing at the corner of the very 
last cottage, from which he was overlooking the Atlantic on the left 
hand and the wide sweep ot the bay on the right. The prospect 
might have soothed a less active mind. It showed a wide, circuit- 
ous shore-line, where the surf was rolling in picturesque whiteness 
in the further corners of the bay; Boulderstone Castle presided over 
tl:\,e river mouth; at his feet the Sandstone harbor and its steamboat 
floating along side. 

He was in no mood, however, to be appeased by any outward 
view of things, and Sir Neil joining him, he walked for nearly a 
couple of miles in silence, until they met the dog- cart at a farm- 
steading on their way inland. Here they talked to a stout, rosy per- 
son over a gate, the tenant of the farm; after which they cut across 
the country to the inner boundary of the estates, marked by a tall 
chimney in a dell where Mackie’s distillery was. 

Here there was no one in authority except a “ gauger ” to receive 
them, and he had no power to be hospitable, being an ally ol the 
Government, whose duty it was to understand how much spirit was 
manufactured, and to see that none of it escaped its proper amount 
of taxation. 

As he returned back at a rattling pace to be in time for a rather 
late dinner, Mr. Frazer had recovered some ot his lost equanimity. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


93 


He saw that there had been no more unnecessary half-crowns given 
away, and he thought he knew the woist about the town and estates. 

“ As a first impression, what would you feel inclined to say about 
things?” asked Sir JNeil, as they approached Boulderstone again. 

“ 1 think, in the first place, there are too many people heie. The 
town itself could do all the work there is with half the population. 
There must be six dogs worrying at each bone. You don’t need 
Sandstone at all. There’s a sprinkling of small crofters all over the 
estates that are worth nothing. AVe will make Boulderstone bring 
in its own income when Boulderstone has got rid of its unnecessary 
dependents.” 

” Bow are we to do that?” asked Sir Neil. 

“ Do it? The thing’ll have to do itself. The estates must pay,” 
said Mr. Frazer, with perfect confidence and decision. 


CHAPTER XXll. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Caroline Frazer besan to discover that her engagement w ith 
Sir Neil Dutton was rather more dreary than she had anticipated. 
She liked him well enough; he was handsome, he had soft dark 
eyes that always looked at her kindly, he had a strong arm, as she 
had felt once or twice, and he had a commanding presence, but he 
somehow or other talked a great deal about things that had no bear- 
ing upon Caroline Frazer, and that Caroline Frazer could not for 
the life of her understand. And he w’^asmore kind than passionate, 
she told herself, and not so observant of the details of her beauty as 
she had been accustomed to find many of the admirers who had sur- 
rounded her since she gave up being a school miss three years ago. 

Carry,” said Sir Neil to her one Sunday night as they were 
standing at the old library window commanding a long view of the 
Atlantic, “ what on earth makes you read a book of that sort?” 

“ Oh, I’m not reading it at all, but papa will not let me have any- 
thing in my hand on a Sabbath except it is a good book. He never 
reads anything but good books himself. If "you were to break in 
upon him upstairs, you would find him with a Bible, ora thing with 
parallel texts, or a volume of sermons, or something. 1 can hardly 
get him to speak above his breath on a Sabbath; and in Edinburgh 
he always goes to church three times a day, and has a class of boys 
that he teaches in the evening.” 

The .young man gave her a look of surprise. 

“ 1 knew, you know, that he interested himself in Church move- 
ments, butf*] had no idea he carried it to so great a length. Of 
course, 1 don’t mind about that sort of thing, although 1 am glad 
you don’t share his opinions about the kind of books to read on a 
Sunday. We agree upon a good many things, he and 1, but upon 
the matter of Sunday observance and Sunday reading 1 hope we 
shall never have to exchange any opinion, as we should differ most 
strongly.” 

‘‘Oh, but I don’t care a bit about reading — not a bit. I have 
some novels upstairs, and I really can’t read any of them, though 
they are by the best authors.” 


04 


BOULDERSTONE. 


“ "Who are the best authors, Carry?*' 

" Well, the author of the ‘ Fly on the Wheel,’ ‘ Breach of the 
Seventh,’ ‘ Cut it Short;’ but except bits of them 1 weary of them,” 
said the heiress, 

” 1 don’t wonder. Couldn’t you try some of these?” linking his- 
arm in hers and walking off to the bookcase. ‘‘ My father was a 
poor reader of modern fiction, but you see he has all the best of the 
last century on these shelves.” 

Caroline looked up, and thought if her father was bad her lover 
was worse. The idea of asking her to read anything a century oldl 
She had a devouring anxiety to be caressed, however, so she freed 
herself from his arms, put one little toot on the step of a bookcase 
ladder, and pimbly sped up until she was able to overlook him. In 
that position she read off half a dozen titles of books with anima- 
tion — ‘‘‘Tom Jones,’ ‘Roderick Random,’ ‘Humphrey Clinker,’ 
‘ Sentimental Journey ’ — ” 

“Lower down. Carry, lower down; never mind these; I don’t 
think jmu would care much about any of them.” 

“ ‘ Quentin Durward,’ ‘ Ivanhoe,’ ‘ The Pirate ’ — ” 

“ 'ies, these,” said Sir Nell, “ even though you may have read 
them half a dozen times.” 

“1 never heard their names before,” said Caroline, making a 
sudden feint as it she were falling, so that Sir Neil had to reach out 
his arms, lift her off the steps, catch the gleam of her laugiiing eyes, 
and hold her in mid-air for one moment as their faces met. 

Caroline was charmed, and as the pair walked out upon the bul- 
wark they felt that after all it was pleasant to love and to be loved. 

“ Light your cigar, Neil, 1 don’t mind it in the least; in fact, 1 
rather like it.” 

The baronet complied very readily, and sitting in the recess of 
the window upon a worn old seat of red sandstone — Sir Neil having 
put a warm wrap round Carry— they looked cozily out upon the 
sea. 

“ This is nice, and I’m quite getting to like Boulderstone. 1 
thought it an awful dungeon at first; but it’s nothing of the kind, 
and the air’s as mild as anything. 1 declare there’s a sw^allow!” 

“ Oh, they build all over the place,” said Sir Reil, tranquilly 
puffing his cigar. “We always like to encourage them, taking it 
for a good sign that they should choose our windows to build in. 
"You remember the passage in ‘ Macbeth;’ 

“ ‘ This guest of summer, 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 

By his lov’d mansionry, that the heaven’s breath 
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze. 

Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird 
Hath made his pendent bed, and procreant cradle: 

Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ’d, 

The air is delicate.’ ” 

Sir Neil had a pleasant voice for recitation, and might have been 
tempted to draw a little further on hisstoresof poetical recollection; 
but Caroline was not encouraging, though she said, “ It’s beautiful. 
I’m sure you’re quite the poet, Neil.” 

“ Quite the poet,” he repeated. “ No, I haven’t much poetry in 


BOULDERSTONE. 


95 


my composition; 1 never knew a man, in fact, who had less, and 
who had more of the business faculty. Let’s talk business, Carry: 
what should you and 1 do quoting poetry, even though the curlev 
out there are calling to their mates in their dirge like tones?” 

Carry looked at him as if he were forsaking his sense, and again 
repealed, ” I’m sure you’re quite the poet.” 

• ‘‘ Not a bit of it. Carry. You have no reason to be alarmed. I 
assure you 1 am as sane as you are. ” 

She shitted her position a little so as to lean upon him, and for 
five minutes the two were silent. 

Caroline sighed from time to time as if she had reached elysium, 
and when Sir Neil spoke again it was in a more softened tone, as if 
he had reasoned himself into a more genial state of mind. 

” I’m sure you will be glad to know, CaiTy, that by your father’s 
incomparable management I expect Boulderstone to become self- 
supporting again. That is his opinion after his first investigation, 
and there is every prospect of my being able to begin public life 
without being hampered at all with a load of debt.” 

“ How could you have any debt,” asked Caroline, with the per- 
haps unconscious purpose of increasing her own value in her lover’s 
estimation, ” and my father a millionaire? 1 dare say he could pay 
oft all the debts as easily as 1 can pa}" a milliner’s bill.” 

Sir Neil winced, and w^as silent for a little again. 

” But, my dear girl, 1 won’t have your father paying the debts 
either of myself or my family.” 

He disliked the position very much, probably because he felt that 
to be happy he must have some chivalry in his affection for her. 

” Beside,” he continued, quickly, as if to get away from a sug- 
gestion that was disagreeable to him — “beside, Boulderstone lost 
ground through sheer mismanagement. There is no reason why it 
should not yield an independent income suitable for all the demands 
of public life. And talking of public life, 1 hardly know wliat to 
make of the proposal in connection with the borough of Westlands 
made by your father. He takes for granted 1 shall stand as a 
"Whig. Now, all my people have been Tory through the whole line 
of the Duttons; and 1 am surprised that your father, who is a 
Radical, should take my standing as a Whig so easily. He seems 
to think that it is the best compromise for one so closely connected 
with Conservatism.” 

“ But, Neil, aren’t all the lords and dukes Conservative?” 

“ Well, no, not all of them; a good many are, though.” 

“ You would be far better to be a Conservative, then; I would 
like you to be on that side.’ 

“You are not talking seriously?” 

“ No,” said Caroline, who felt she was on the verge of being un- 
popular. 

“ My difficulty is this in connection with party. As you know, 
Caroline, you who have been so closely connected with the people, 
and who understand them a hundred times better than 1 do—” 

“ Indeed 1 don’t,” said Caroline, who felt as it some aspersion 
were being cast upon her origin. 

“ But you do know that, as a matter of fact, there are great ques- 
tions coming up about the masses of the people, questions that one 


96 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


would like to assist in solving. I’ve been a great deal about the 
world within the last year or two, and I’ve seen something of the 
same feeling everywhere among the same classes. I’ve talked to 
men in the open gardens ot Vienna, Berlin, Brussels, ISew Voik, 
London, and Paris, and 1 find that, far from being happy, without 
cares, they are, as a rule, profoundly unhappy and restless. I find 
the same on my estates; there are tar more people miserable tharl 
contented ’’—Caroline put up her little hand to stop a yawn, w^hich 
her lover did not notice — “ and there is reason for it too. It isn’t 
because human beings aie more prone to misery than to happiness; 
it is because the pressure of circumstances makes them miserable. 
■\VeIl, my feeling. Carry, is that to be on the political side which 
will help the majority to have happier lives, is the proper place tor one 
who should worli heartily at politics. I should like to know, howev- 
er, what side oilers them the largest chance of such happiness. Some- 
times I am tempted to think that Badicalism has the kej’’ to the 
situation. Then 1 seem t o see the tumbling at the lock, and to hear 
the roar of the unsatisfied on the other side'of the gate. Sometimes 
Conservatism looks as if it might give the happiness for which the 
many pine. Then 1 find those who are pledged to it jealous and 
timid— jealous ot encroachments on theii ancient rights, timid be- 
cause the masses may rise up, and seize what is indefinitely post- 
poned. And it occurs to me that politics — the fight of the com- 
mittee which is out to become the committee which is in — may 
perhaps do little tor the working masses. What they want they 
must work out for and by themselves — and in that w'ay lies revolu- 
tion, it may be.” He looked at the girl beside him, a daughter of 
the people, as he told himself, in spite of her value in the market of 
matrimony. He looked for sympathy in his doubts, some w^ord or 
hint that she saw, even afar off, the perplexities that gathered round 
his path. 

Caroline was dozing heavily. 


CHAPTER XXIll. 

SOWING THE W^IND. 

Mr. Frazer had not been long in Boulderstone before he had all 
his schemes matured for rescuing tlie estates. With a plan of all 
the parishes in the county before him, he had chalked oft in blue 
and red what was to come ot this steading and that, of this quarry 
and the next, ot hamlets, and mills, and roads, foreshores, and 
lanes. He had one aim before him, to make the estates pay, and, a 
certain number ot obstacles intervening, the problem was to remove 
them as swiftly as possible. One obstacle was the disposition of the 
baronet himself. Love, Mr. Frazer had calculated, wmuld occupy 
a large part of his time; but it wms turning out that love had a 
smaller share of his attention than had been anticipated. The bar- 
onet was having too much time on his hands. Too much, because, 
from what Mr. Frazer chose lo consider softness ot disposition, as 
shown in the instance of Heatherheaid, and giving aw^ay alms, a 
tendency to reckless acts of generosity might further develop.' 


BOULDEllSTOJsE. 97 

So, in addition to having his daughter to woo, he resolved that Sir 
Iseil should have the borough of Westlands on his hands as well, 

AYestlands must in the course of six mouths get rid of its present 
member, if Mr. Frazer’s calculations were right. He hoped, there- 
fore, that by opening a brisk correspondence with the local chiefs of 
the Liberal party in Westlands, and getting his agents there to ply 
Sir Neil with letters lequiring answers, that his ttme and attention 
would be in a great measure withdrawn from Boulderstone. He 
further arranged that blue books, statistics, reports, and the para- 
phernalia of statesmanship that seemed most likely to appeal to the 
young man’s vanity and feeling for public life should flow in upon 
him. 

With the baronet thus occupied he promised himself that one ob- 
stacle should be removed, in the event of trouble rising in the com- 
munity. 

Mr, hrazer was not ignorant of the management of land. He 
M^as, in tact, chairman of a company which owned a territory three 
times the size of Scotland; and it was admittedly his management 
and personal surveillance at ihe other side of the world that had 
made the company one of the most prosperous concerns in the 
market. 

But his knowledge of land was gained in a new country, and 
when he set himself to the adjustment of the Boulderstone property 
he did it on precisely the same principle as he had applied to the 
sheep ranges of Brisbane, It was the only way he saw a prospect 
of making the thing pay, though he was not blind to the fact that 
Boulderstone, as an old property, presented urban difficulties he had 
never encountered in Brisbane. 

The first principle of Mr. Frazer’s policy was to clear out all the 
inhabtants whom he could either persuade or force to go. 

It suited him to have as many emigrants as he could get of au in- 
dustrious, thrifty sort, for the Brisbane estates were in want of a 
few hundred such families. 

By depleting Boulderstone he meant to feed Brisbane, making his 
projects fit into each other at the same time. But he had too long 
an acquaintanceship with affairs to suppose that it could be done 
without a little rough work. 

In the first place, ^there was the hamlet of Sandstone to be cleared 
out, and it was Brock’s property as much as Dutton’s; and the 
former, as the son of a Dundee merchant-prince, might be expected 
1 to throw certain obstacles in the way. IJe would at least be certain 
] to higgle and bargain. On liis map, therefore, he had the red mark 
f of obliteraiion for the hamlet, and in his note-book a sign mark of 
1 conciliation for Brock. 

; Then there was the languishing industry of the pavement works, 
which supported so many laboring men in Boulderstone. It was 
not to be blotted <'ut, so as to fit in with the emigration scheme. On 
the contrary. J\Ir. Frazer had feasted two or three commissioners of 
works in his Edinburgh club, and already he had before him orders 
tor slate and pavement which were to be supplied during the sum- 
mer and autumn to certain municipalities in the Fast. 

Quarries and works in consequence were to be set on at an in- 
creased rate of labor. But a change must be made in the works; 

4 


98 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


tliey must be removed from the stream two miles round the bay to 
the liver-mouth, so as to be in easy proximity to the shipping^. For 
that object it was necessary to take down a large part of the fisher- 
men’s houses on the foreshore. 

The fishermen must be warned out, the houses acquired, and the 
j foreshore made available for the new yards. Mr. Frazer never asked 
•Ihimself where the inhabitants were to go after they were turned 
•out. They were useless, so far as his immediate purpose was con- 
^ cerned. That was enough. It was not in his scheme to make them 
useful in their own line as fishermen. One thing at a time, he said 
to himself— the tish alter the slates. The loafers must in the first in- 
stance clear out. 

Ot course there would be murmuring among the fishermen; a 
little crying out, perhaps a display of sott-heartedness on the part 
of Sir Neil Dutton. Vaguely Mr. Frazer foresaw all that, but busi- 
ness had nothing to do with the contemplation ot such difficulties, 
except to contemplate them as thrust aside and overcome. 

In connection with the work of clearing the foreshore, Mr. Frazer 
had noted down two names — Miss Bertha St. Clair and Captain 
Jansen— as either allies or enemies. He had information to the efiect 
that the captain was about to marry Miss St. Clair, and that the lat- 
ter owned some tenements right in the heart ot the spot where his 
new yards were to be. He would deal with them as friends in the 
first instance; and the view of the captain he had obtained at the 
Brae-head gave him a poor impression of his capacities; if they 
would not be induced to deal pleasantly he would crush them. The 
school -mistress would be deprived of lier school; and the captain’s 
investments oeing known to Mr. Frazer, it was not difficult to devise 
annoyances for him that might in the long-run lead to poverty. 

The fishermen being disposed of, the capitalist proposed another 
scheme to himself immediately affecting the w-eltare of the town. 
There was an immense number of small dealers in Boulderstone— 
drapers, grocers, mixed merchants who sold everything, and one or 
two who confined themselves to tins, books, boots, and watches. 
One or two of them were living in the villas on the river side, hav- 
ing made moderate competences. 

It had occurred to Mr. Frazer that the establishment of one large 
shop in the square, at co-operative prices, which would supply the 
country villages as well as the town, would be a boon to the town 
and a great soui ce of profit. It need not be carried on in the name 
of the castle— that would be obnoxious to ancient pride; it w'ould 
be easily arranged, however, so that another man managed it while 
the profits flowed toward the Dutton account at the local bank. 

In that way Boulderstone would become an active producing 
center, dependent for w^ages and for existence to a large extent on 
the castle. Not that Mr. Frazer saw much to be obtained from a 
revived feudalism of that description. He cared nothing about local 
power at Boulderstone; he had plenty of it on a large scale else- 
where. But as a means of recruiting the baronet’s income, he felt 
assured that such feudalism would be thoroughly effecMve. He 
congiatulaled himself on the fact that trades-unionism had not 
reached the town. The laborers knew nothing excepi by hearsay of 
-What their brethren further south had done for themselves by com- 


BOULDEESTO^sE. 


99 


bifiation. Their wages had therefore hitherto varied little from a 
fixed, low level, lu view of the fact that they had no unions, Mr. 
Frazer calculated that a reduction of wages at all the quarries and 
in the yards might wilh safety be undertaken. The obstacles to be 
overcome in the country before his policy was successfully applied 
did not seem so formidid)le. Be had already remarked anumber of 
tall Scandinavian farmers with as much critical delight as the Ger- 
man king is said to have surveyed his big guards. In the colonies 
these men would be priceless; at lioiilderstone they were wanting 
both in means and energy. 

Some of these he cculd prevail upon to go by force of reason, and 
could even stretch a point to help on their way to the other side of 
the world, lire rest must shift for themselves, like the fishermen 
whose houses he had already leveled in imagination. 

The red mark of obliteration ran round the whole circuit of the 
estate; wherever, in fact, leases had fallen in, for the moderately 
small-sized farms were to become large expanses for the pasture of 
sheep or deer, as afterwartl seemed most remunerative. At least 
sixty families must, consequently, move during the course of the 
summer. 

To achieve his ends at the smallest cost of trouble, Mr. Frazer 
looked about for useful allies. Mr. Hew Brock, as a land-owner on 
an extensive scale, was one of them; two of the Boulderstone pas- 
tors w^ere the others; for at the bottom of the whole scheme he liked 
to think that Providence was working; and he knew (hat if people 
were to be brought round to the same view there must be clergy- 
men to make the subject plain, with apt and telling illustrations 
drawn from texts of Scripture and from the depths of their own im- 
agination. Mr. Frazer did not spring his plans of operation upon 
th^e town all at once, though during the winter months he had been 
stealthily preparing various minds for the reception of it. lie did 
not explain to Sir Neil Dutton in full detail what he meant to do. 
But bit by bit the baronet was to find out for himself when he 
could withdraw himselt from courtship and the borough of West- 
lands. 

And after all, the touch of prosperity had been so long, so firm, 
so assured in the undertakings of the plutocrat, that he hoped there 
might be no reason for Sir Neil being troubled with Boulderstone 
affairs till, at least, the marriage was completed. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 

‘ 1 WOULD like you to be a little civil and attentive to Mr. Brock," 
said Mr. Frazer to his daughter one evening. “Pm not sure 
whether Sir Neil is going to take to him— 1 rather think not; and 
it’s not of much consequence, but I’ve some business to do with 
him, and I would like you to pay him a little attention.’’ 

Caroline understood the injunction. She had Heard it frequently, 
and had a mechanical manner at command for all the people recom- 
mended to her notice in that way. It pleased her more than usual 
to be told that she was to show some attention lo the neighboring 


100 


BOULDERSTONE. 


land owner. He was as unlike lier betrothed as he could possibly 
be, yet for that very reason she was attracted to him. 

Slie thought him" manly, strong, and spirited. The more, in fact, 
she knew of Sir Neil the less she understood him. Mr. Brock, on 
the other hand, she had met but once at the battery, and in a few 
words he seemed to reveal his whole nature. He was a man she 
could be familiar with on the shortest notice. He was “ joky,” and 
made eyes at her, which she liked; in his glance she detected just 
that amount of personal admiration that it was pleasant for her ta 
receive from an outsider. For once, therefore, her father’s injunc- 
tion was quite in accordance with her own feeling. She looked for- 
ward to showing civility witn a little flutter of satisfaction, for the 
distractions of Boulderstone were few as yet. 

Her father’s yacht was coming round from the Clyde one of these 
days, and when it arrived there were several trips to be made, which, 
though with a darker sea and more gaunt surroundings, she hoped 
might remind her lover of the earlier Mediterranean lime, and bring 
back some of the greater warmth which his attentions then had, 

Meanwliile, as she had not learned to fish trout or salmon, and had 
no curiosity to try for them, and was much too timid to venture her 
little person on horseback, she found time hang rather heavy on her 
hands. 

There was not long to wait before an opportunity of being civil to 
Mr. Hew Brock occurred. About an hour after Air. Frazer’s talk 
with his daughter her maid told her that a stout gentleman, with a 
red face, had just had his horse taken round to the stables, and a 
little later, as Lady Dutton was unable to leave her room, and the 
baronet was on the river somewhere, Caroline had essayed his enter- 
lainment. 

Mr. Brock was delighted beyond measure that chance had given 
him Caroline as a hostess. As he stood before her, large, impress- 
ive, and genial, according to his manner, Caroline naturally had 
resort to her most alluring shrugs of the shoulder, little protrusions 
and withdrawings of her neat feet, and knowing flashes of her 
brown e3’^es. 

I'he Laird of Lobster Keep looked rather belter than he was wont 
on this occasion. He was booted and spurred, and otherwise carried 
with him the air of a country gentleman. Above all, the flavor of 
the fields was in his garments, and Caroline could not help contrast- 
ing him with her own lover. 

“ 1 hope you don’t care about politics and improvements inland?”' 
she said, when the first greetings had been got over. 

“ Da — 1 beg pardon. Hang it, no; 1 like riding across country. 
Hunting and shooting suits me. M}^ estates are down in sheep, you 
know; 1 have no improvements to make.” 

He took the left wing of his mustache in his forefinger and 
thumb, and deliberately gazed at her for some moments on the back 
of that response. 

“I’m quite glad,” said Caroline, coqiiettishly; “1 hear nothing^ 
else talked in the castle, and I'm sure 1 don’t yet know a Whig from 
a Tory, and I’m not caring.” 

“ 1 like that, da— hang it,” replied Mr. Brock, shifting bis hand 


EOULDERSTON^E. 101 

to the other wing of his mustache, and glancing clown at her with a 
look something between a leer and a grimace. 

“ By George, Miss Frazer, would you excuse me? but I’m as dry 
as sawdust,” 

” Certainly;” and Caroline had soda and brandy ordered for him. 
She took a little herself, remembering dutifully her father’s injunc- 
tion that she was to show some attention to Mr. Brock. 

The laird took a long draught, sighed, and looked at his young 
hostess as if an idea had struck him. 

‘‘ I’m sure I’ve seen you at a hop at Dundee. Do you know the 
Milroys and the Benvies?” 

“ dh, yes. Miss Benvie lived a week in Edinburgh with me— a 
spiteful cat. 1 didn’t like her.” 

Mr. Brock expanded his chest, and threw out a great whinnying 
laugh. Caroline was flattered. He took his place iTeside her on the 
couch, at a respectful distance. Then she alluded to Sir Neil, and 
he managed to get his spurs entangled in a fancy sofa-blanket which 
hung drooping over the couch. 

“ Da — hang it! I've made my housekeeper take everything of 
this sort out of my drawing-room, 1 can’t stand them.” 

He became disentangled presently, and Caroline, in a tone of ap- 
proving menace, told him that '‘such stories were going” about 
him in Boulderstone. 

” Stories!” and iMr. Brock, making a mental inventory of all the 
breaches of the moral law he had committed during the last three 
weeks, looked hard at Caroline to understand how much it would 
affect her estimate of him if they should happen to be known to 
her. 

” I w’as a devil of a fellow in Dundee. But this is an awful quiet 
place. I’m going to marry and settle down.” 

“So am 1,” said Caroline, briskly, feeling that under such cir- 
cumstances there w'as the fullest license for a flirtation. 

“ But you haven’t been a — a — da — hang it?” 

“ A ‘ devil of a fellow,’ ” interposed Caroline, speaking into her 
tumbler; “ no, no, my father’s an elder.” 

“ So’s mine; but that didn’t keep me from having my fling.” 

And Mr. Brock whinnied again, finding his listener sympathetic, 
“ you’re the sort of a girl that shouldn’t marry. 1 say. Miss 
Frazer, I’ve seen you at a hop at Milroy’s.” 

“ Oh, well, it you have I’ve forgotten you,” Caroline said, tartly. 
She had reason to remember the occasion. l\Irs. Milroy had been 
obliged to tell her she was taking too much champagne, and the 
state of her own head next morning had strengthened the memory 
of the insult; the whispered warning had been overheard by some 
military gentlemen from Stirling not likely to forget it, and Caro- 
line hated the memory of the whole affair, and gave a disagreeable 
turn to the conversation by exclaiming, 

“Is it (rue, Mr. Brock, that one of the Sandstone fishermen 
knocked you down?” 

“ Me down! Not very likely. I had to knock one of them down 
for insolence.” 

“ Because he wouldn’t let you kiss his wife,” laughed Caroline. 

“ Oh, da — ha! you know. Miss Frazer, 1 never wanted to kiss 


bouldeksto:n'e. 


102 

her; 1 am surprised you would believe it about me;” and with a 
flushed leer on his face, before Caroline could prevent him, his arm 
was about her waist. 

“ I’ll ring: for th? butler— upon my word 1 will,” she repeated, as 
the laird kept looking into her face. 

“ No you won’t. What would you do that for? If you had been 
in Dundee for a week you would have been my wife. A.fter 1 saw 
yon at Milroy’s hop 1 wrote to you.” 

” There’s Sir Neil;” and Caroline rose flurriedly on hearing 
wheels on the gravel outside. ” You must meet b.im yourself, Mr. 
Brock. How could 1 meet him after such behavior on your part? 
Fre a good mind to tell him.” 

But it was not Sir Neil; it was only a cart full of last year’s 
leaves; so Caroline resumed her seat, at a distance from her visitor. 

” You’re an awful man; 1 hope you’ll never come here again.” 

” Hang it, Miss Frazer, 1 was thinking 1 would go away back to 
Dundee. But 1 won't do it now.” 

They were still sitting when Lady Dutton entered the drawing- 
room a little later on, scornful and patronizing to the mill-owner’s 
fion, who held the old lands of her dead neighbors. 

Mr. Frazer left the castle to go up the hill to Juniper Bank. He 
was in no very gracious humor as he looked over the ridge of the 
river into Bertha s garden, and upon the chimneys of her cottage. 
The visit was one, he felt, he had no riglit to make; but on ap- 
proaching Captain Jansen on the question of his houses on the fore- 
shore, that worthy said he had considered the matter with Miss St. 
Clair, and he had determined not to sell. 

“Bless me,” said the astonished negotiator, who offered a fair 
price for the houses, “ what’s a man of your years and experience 
handing his business over to that girl for?” 

And the captain had only held hiS peace and looked at him con- 
temptuously, his rejection of all terms being made much fnore effect- 
ive in silence than if he had spoken the most vehement words. 

It had made a permanent impression on Mr. Frazer at any rate. 
As he let himself into Bertha’s garden, he saw her at her porch bid- 
ding farewell to a thicli-set, bronzed fellow in a pilot-jacket. He 
was one of her pupils, who had passed as third mate, and who had 
been to tell her of a summons to join his ship at Greenock for the 
East Indies. All that he knew Bertha had taught him, and in the 
quiet earnestness of his face he was trying to impress his sense of 
that debt. 

Mr. Frazer only saw in it a sailor lad paying attention to a girl. At 
first he had a mind to return to Boulderstone without pretending to 
consult her in the matter of the property on the foreshore. Consult 
:a mere girl, who entertained sailor lads at her cottage door, the 
thing WHS absurd! He was not certain that he might not even com- 
promise his character by conversation with her. Only her cottage 
was remote from view, and the sailor had taken his departure. 

“ I’m thinking I’ve driven your sweetheart off,” said Mr. Frazer, 
approaching the porch from which Bertha had stepped. He spoke 
in a brusque, sudden voice, and his eye sharply ran her over from 
Iiead to foot. 


BOULDERSTONE. 108 

“ He is a pupil.” Bertha was taken aback, and hardl}^ knew how 
to address the unflinching little man in front of her. 

‘‘Are your pupils all that size and age at the charity-school?”' 
be asked, spying, as he thought, an advantage. 

Bertha had recovered herself. “ My pupils of the charity-school 
are mostly children,” she answered, firmly, meeting the side glance 
of the cold, gray eyes with a direct, straightforward look. 

” 1 would think,” he continued, ‘‘ that it was not very seemly for 
a young person of your age, holding a public position in the lown^ 
to receive men about your liouse.” 

‘‘ Have you come to deliver that message from those who ap- 
pointed me?” asked Bertha, her voice trembling with indignation. 
‘‘ 1 have received men in my cottage when and how I have pleased. 
You may mean your advice to be kind. It is not kind; it is inso- 
lent, Sir, I know who you aie. You have not come here with a 
good intention — ” Then Bertha’s words almost choked her, and 
she turned from him. 

Mr. Frazer liad a great mind to withdraw; the idea of doing busi- 
ness Avith an unreasonable young termagant of that sort seemed 
more absurd than ever; it would be flattering her vanity. 

He thought better of it. how’ever; and Bertha coming back, with, 
her face pale, and her clear, large eyes having more sorrow than 
auger in them, lie began in a different key. 

” You’re the proprietor of some houses on the foreshore. Captain 
Jansen tells me. Sir Neil Dutton is anxious to acquire them, and 
1 want you to say how much it is to cost us to get them into our 
hands.” 

‘‘ 1 am no proprietor. Captain Jansen could not have said I 
owned houses. 1 own none. But we have heard that you are tn 
pull the houses down, and to let the people go to the moors or the 
rocks, and we will not allow it.” 

He looked at her with a movement of contempt. ‘‘AYe— wdio 
are w’’e? — the skipper and you! Do you knov/ what 3 ''ou’re talking 
about? You’ve got that man Jansen under your thumb. Do .yon 
suppose that what .you will allow or not allow can affect the ’im- 
provements in Boulderstone tOAvn and estates? I’ll sa^' no more 
either to you or your paramour on the subject; but it will le better 
for you to cultivate a little humility.” 

And the millionaire turned on his heel and left. 


chapter XXV. 

ACROSS THE HARBOR BAR. 

” Get oot o’ my rod, ye mucKle lump,” said Jean Scott to Oscar,, 
next morning, as she made her way to the captain’s parlor with a 
tray, on Avhich there was a dish of chops, two duck eggs in an egg- 
cozey, and a cut of sea trout. 

‘‘ Noo, cap’n, 1 will not permit ye to leave the boose on an empty 
stammack,” she remarked to Captain Jansen, who laid aside his 
pipe, furtively, at his housekeeper’s approach. 

” It’s mair nor a week than ye’ve laen a breakfast, an’ folk wad 


104 


BOULDEIiSTOXE. 


say it was drink that kent nae better. Ye maun eat, cap’n. I’m 
sure there’s no a better cookit breakfast in a’ Boultherstone this 
day.” 

The captain surveyed the uncovered contents ot the tray, and re- 
marked that she had provided for three. 

” An’ what for noo? A halesome man aye eats for three. I’m 
sure I’m just fair distrackit wi’ ye. I kenna what’s wrang x\n’ 
ye’ll no tak’ pouthers nor peels nor onything. I’ll just gang ower 
to Dr. Dick’s o’ my ain accord, an’ ask his advice whither ye wull 
or no’, if ye dinna eat better. 1 wad say it wis the smock, smock, 
smockin’, if 1 didna ken that totaccy’s been meat an’ drink to ye a’ 
yer days. Get oot o’ my rod, ye muckle lump,” as Oscar ap- 
i proached his nose to the captain's plate. 

The severity of the housekeeper’s tone impressed the dog as little 
as it aid the captain. Oscar knew that, like the bark of some of 
his acquaintances, it was the most serious thing about her. And 
the master ot the house sat down to his solitary meal, while Oscar 
eyed him with a gentle expectancy of expression which was 
specially rewarded by an entire chop. Captain Jansen’s lack of ap- 
p'etite was the result of the concentration of his mind, heart, and 
imagination upon one subject. He was haunted by Bertha St. 
Clair. The girl had become a second self to him, and yet he dared 
not tell her so. She was so young, he felt; he was so old. It would 
not be fair to her, tor her own sake, to hint that which possessed 
his thoughts in his waking and in his sleeping hours. He, an old 
captain, with more than fift}'^ summers over his head, how should 
he hope to make the fresh young girl respond to any summons of 
love? Yet he could not choose but occupy himself wiPh thoughts 
of her, and sometimes he believed that he would risk the breaking 
of this present friendship by making a proposal of marriage. But 
there was a shyness in the adoration of Captain Jansen; when his 
heart was most full, it was often then that he seemed most com- 
monplace. Even the exquisite instinct and S 5 unpathetic understand- 
ing of Berlha St. Clair failed to detect in him a love which was 
deeper than protecting friendship. 

The love of Captain Jansen, coming to him in his mature years, 
had in it something of pathos through its very speechlessness. If 
it had been young, it would have been its own great reward; for 
youth revels in the luxury of its own emotion, without knowledge 
of anything beyond. Captain Jansen’s looking-glass told him twice 
a day that it would not be very long before age had definitely 
inarked him. So he remained an irresolute man, taking his cue in 
life from Bertha, putting his little fortune at her disposal, waxing 
enthusiastic with her enthusiasm, and postponing the day when he 
should hint to her his love. 

The river-side was a scene of great liveliness some hours later 
on. ^ It happened to be the day ot the arrival of Captain Jansen’s 
fishing-boats— the boats that, according to Bertha’s scheme, were 
gradually to become the property of the men as they paid the captain 
back from the profits of their fishing. 

The crowd that swarmed down to the beach was made up of the 
inhabitants of the foreshore. 

A pilot- boat, with Captain Jansen and Bertha in it, was to set oft 


BOULDERSTONE. 


105 


across the bar the moment the little fleet came in view at Dutton 
Head. Every flag was flying on the masts of the timber brigs and 
the coal ships, for Jansen’s name was one to conjure with among 
the coasting captains. Bertha and he had not yet taken their place 
in the pilot s boat, when the gate in the sea-wall of Boulderstone 
Castle opened, and a party of half a dozen sauntered down toward 
the opposite side of the river. Mr. Frazer led Lady Dutton, Mr. 
Brock accompanied Miss Frazer, who was dressed in blue yachting 
costume, and Sir ISleil was last, with a little man in blue uniform 
and gold buttons. 

The projector’s yacht had come round from the Clyde, and lay in 
the center of the river — a perfect gem of marine workmanship — and 
for the first time it was to make the circuit of Boulderstone Bay. 

“ Well, 1 am so glad to see that the people of the town recognize 
their duties,” said Lady Dutton, as she stepped warily across the 
stones. She W'as looking at the imposing array of streaming flags 
which she took to be some homage to the party. Mr. Frazer only 
knew that morning of the demonstration and its significance, but 
he said nothing. 

” Dear me, the whole town has turned out to see us,” Saying 
this, Caroline suddenly deserted Mr. Brock’s side, in order that she 
might present herself to the multitude on the baronet’s arm^ 
” Well, Carry, what do you think now of Bouldeistone’s enthusi- 
asm?” asked Sir Neil, as the gay colors struck him. ”1 had no 
idea the trial-trip would elicit all that.” 

As they look their seats in the small boat and rowed out to the 
yacht in the middle of the stream the air was rent with shouts. 
From the Brae-head to the water-edge the groups of fisher-folks sus- 
tained the applause. 

Lady Dutton stood on the deck of the yacht, bowing most aflahly. 
Caroline waved her handkerchief, and Sir Neil raised his hat. As 
the screw moved and the yacht glided out, the voices were more 


noisy than ever. 

“ What an enthusiastic crowd! I only hope my first constituency 
may have a tenth of the fervor,” said Sir Neil to Mr. Frazer. But 
the latter preserved a grim silence. He saw a green-painted yawl, 
with its mast up and its brown sail set, and he knew that the tw’o 
figures in the stern were Bertha and Captain Jansen. Neck and 
neck the boat ran tor some time with the yacht, the noise of the 
voices growing fainter behind them, and still the occupants of the 
yacht weaved and bowed to the multitude. 

” Who is that person?” asked Lady Dutton, as she perceived a 
white hand held up from the stern of the yawl. 

” She thinks it’s for her the applause is,” said Caroline; and Mr. 
Brock would have laughed loudly but for the first heavings of the 
sea, which told him th« before long he would be humiliated. 

” Who is she?” repeated her ladyship with more emphasis, as the 
yawl cleared the bar at a galloping pace within a lew yards of the 
yacht, while Sir Neil shouted across, 

” Are you racing us. Miss St. Clair?” 

” We’ve no chance against^^eam,” was the captain’s answer, as 
Bertha bowled to Sir Neil. \ 

” She’s a very giddy young w'oman, Lady Dutton, and the sooner 


106 BOULDERSTOKE. 

that man marries her the better it will be for her,” said Mr. Frazer, 
confidentially. 

“ Oh dear!” and Lady Dutton fixed \\tx 'pince-nez, and looked with 
unfeigned alarm at the white crests of the breakers which rushed 
U8hf)re on each side ot the bar. 

The salmon -fishers were in their cobles as the yacht and the yawl 
swept past. They rose and waved their sou’-westers, for they had 
seen the tleet at Dutton Head, toward which Captain Jansen now 
turned the bow of his boat. 

” How did you come to know that— that person, Neil?” his moth- 
er asked when they were well free of the river, and had left the 
fringe of white waves behind. 

She’s the charity-school mistress I’ve talked to you about. 1 
thought she was an elderly, forbidding woman. But she’s a mere 
girl, as you have seen.” 

” Leave her alone for being the most cunning woman in the dis- 
trict,” said Mr. Frazer; *‘ she’s going to give me a deal of trouble. 
1 am afraid she’s bad out and out.” 

Sir Neil never tallred harm of any one without strong conviction 
of Iheir worthlessness. 

It happened that Bertha had impressed him very strongly with a 
sense of her truthfulness and earnestness, perhaps with her beauty. 

“ You are prejudiced,” he said, sharply, turning on his heel, and 
Mr. Frazer’s lip fell with an expression ot contempt. ” The puppy, 
-after all 1 have done and am doing for him!” 

The yacht had now taken one direction and the yawl another; 
but there was an undertone of discord on board the handsome little 
steamboat which made itself felt during the whole trip. Yet there 
was much to have made it very pleasant. Boulderstone Bay was 
wide, breezy and fresh. There was just enough of rolling in the 
waves to make any one enthusiastic for sailing feel the pleasure of 
being out. 

They made direct for Sandstone; but whether it was that Sir Neil 
spoke too kindly to some lobster-fishers who were pulling in their 
boxes beneath the cliff at the light-house, or that the spectacle of the 
incoming boats disagreed with Mr. Frazer, tnere was a general feel- 
ing ot ill-temper. It was not improved when Sir Neil was told by 
the captain that he believed the small fleet was a “ venture ” of 
Jansen’s. 

” The bunting, after all, was not for us, Lady Dutton, "^iV’e, in 
our self-conceit, went oft with the applause. It was the old captain 
and the girl in the stern of the boat to whom it was addressed.” 

” The more shame to her,” replied her ladyship. ” It is too ab- 
surd that a demonstration of that sort should have been got up for 
any such purpose.” 

” My lady, a crowd would gather if there was an old hat in the 
river,” snapped Mr. Frazer. 

They were just finishing luncheon, during the course of which. 
Mr. Brock privately discovered that Sir Neil Dutton was ” a damned 
conceited fellow,” wdien a noise ot voices was heard on deck. 

” Something has happened!” exclaimed Lady Dutton; ‘‘ 1 hope 
we are in no danger!” 

The noise continued; feet tramped overhead; there was a confu- 


BOULDEItSTOKE, 107 

sion of orders, mingled with swearinu; and the beating of spars op 
the tafirail. 

“ See that, there is no danger,” said Lady Dutton, while Caro- 
line, pale with terror, looked ready to cry. The steward, coming ia 
at that moment, announced, 

“ It’s nothing, sir, but a shore boat that came foul of us. All the 
crew are on board.” 

” Do you call that nothing?” said Sir Neil, nimbly stepping out 
of the saloon and ascending on deck. 

When he returned, Bertha St. Clair was on his arm, pale, but 
perfectly courageous. 

Lady Dutton and Caroline rose together. 

” Come with me. Carry dear, 1 foresee a scene.” 

‘‘ Let me not disturb your ladyship,” said Bertha, in a low voice, 
seeing how unwelcome she was, “ Sir, 1 liave quite recovered my- 
self.” 

” My dear Miss St. Clair, you shall sit down. Steward, bring 
Captain Jansen. Some terrible blunder has been committed. The 
yacht has been brought right athwart the fleet of boats; and had 
this lady not been as quick-witted as she is brave, there would have 
been lives lost.” 

Bertha, who was wet to the knees, sat down, Mr. Frazer frown- 
ing on her, until Captain Jansen came in saying, ” He’s no sea-faring 
man that commands this yacht.” 

Mr. Frazer and the Laird of Lobster Keep went upstairs. 

‘‘ I hope to goodness,” said Sir Neil, roused from his usual level 
of calmness, ” that you have received no injury, Miss St. Clair?” 

Bertha was struggling against a strong tendenc}’- to faint. 

” It is the air of the cabin,” she murmured, feebly; ” let me gcr 
on deck.” 

They led her on deck. The breeze restored her; and as the yacht 
steamed into the river the assembled crowd saw with delight that 
the lord of the manor was standing between Bertha and the captain. 

This time, as he raised his hat, he felt that he was entitled to at 
least the reflected honor which was being bestowed on his two 
friends. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

FRIENDSniP. 

The more Sir Neil Dutton thought of the episode of the yacht 
coming in contact with the yawl in the bay, the more he thought of 
Bertha St. Clair as a heroic young creature. The behavior of his 
own party to her he considered mean in tlie extreme. By her own 
agility she had clambered out of a sinking boat and assisted the 
others, and hot a word of terror had escaped from her lips. Through 
sheer force of courage she had repressed the overpowering feeling of 
faintness; and when, snatched from the grave, as it were, she was 
introduced to his people in the cabin of the yacht, they turned their 
backs on her. Why, had she breu the most forbidding wretch on 
the foreshore of Boulderstone he could not have behaved to her with 
such cruelty. It was incomprehensible. He was so angry that he 


108 


BOULDERSTON’E. 


nearer alluded to the event all the evening. And no other person 
seemed to think it '^orth while alluding to, though Mr. Frazer, wdth 
brows knit, sat devising a plan of annihilation for the captain and 
Bertha; while Caroline, at Lady Dutton’s request, stumbled through 
Mendelssohn’s “ Lieder ” for the benefit of her betrothed. 

Sir Niel was much on the river during these early spring days. 
He had not used rod and line since he was a boy; but the economy 
of the river was as familiar to him as the inside of the town to Mr. 
Frazer. 

Beyond Juniper Bank the Boulder flowed for a quarter of a mile 
through a deep pool, which, under old salmon regulations, was in- 
closed within a criiive at one end and a fall 6t the other. The mar- 
gin ot the pool was of shingle, and the salmon w'ere running up in 
shoals from the sea. The wmtery water had subsided w'eeks before, 
and with it the kelts which had been at the spawning beds had run 
back to the bay for the rich feeding it would give them. 

Already the smolts were beginning to run, and a great cormorant 
dived, reappeared, and dived, feeding himself with much voracity 
in the center of the stream. 

“ That fellow has been there, sir, for a week, an’ I’se warran’ 
he’s had his fill o’ smoots by this time 1 was some Ihinkin’ to 
shute him the day, aifter ye fished the pool.” 

So said the gillie, but Sir Neil was in no humor to have the bird’s 
life taken. 

“ There’s luck in him, Sandy. I’ve got a grilse in his trail each 
time I’ve fished.” 

” Oo ay, sir; but ye micht get a saumon if he was ta’en aff the 
watter. VVe had Lord Addersdale on the pool ance, an’ be took 
seeven saumon linnin’ juist whaur ye’re staunin’ enoo.” 

“Yes; but Lord Addersdale is the crack angler of the North, 
Sandy.” 

“ If ye could manage to hit the w^atter twa three yards abune that 
stane ahint the fa’, 1 wad maist guarantee ye a fish.” Sandy low- 
ered his voice to a whisper now that his master was casting. 

“ Thanks, Sandy. You may go up the stream now and see what 
you think about that cormorant. 1. shall speak if you stay here, and 
the salmon don’t like it.” 

“ Ou, they’re skeely craturs, saumon. Whan they hear a man’s 
vice they ken there’s cheetin’ gaun on,” and Sandy moved away 
slowly with his gaff in his hand. 

But Sir Neil fished the pool in vain that afternoon. Over and 
over again a head or a tail showed itself at his fly, but his hand had 
lost its cunning. One after another the pricked fish rushed up the 
waters, and the baronet had no sport, 

“Just take these things, will you?” said Sir Neil, after a few 
hours’ beating about the pool, “ and tell them to have my horse at 
the second milestone by seven o’clock. ” 

“ Aweel, sir,” replied Sandy, striding away. 

Sir Neil strolled leisurely down the shingle, enjoying the solitude. 

^ It was the kind of spring evening in which the pulse of universal 
life can be felt beating through everything. 

The banks were shaggy with heath and broom and whins, and 
the linnets were hoverrng over them with straws in their mouths. 


BOULUEKSTO^’E. 


109 


And where the bank became a wall of clay, wrens and sand-mar- 
tins were flying out and in, having already arranged tor their 
spring housekeeping. 

The first bees of the year — great, yellow drones— were irresolutely 
passing from flowerless shrub to shrub. The valley had not a sound 
in it save of the stead3% crashing fall, the melodious muttering of 
the birds, and from the distance the meaning. cry of a heifer in the 
fields. 

AM Boulderstone was on the other side of the slope through 
which the river flowed; but Sir Neil, as he sauntered down, felt 
that he might have left human beings a whole zone behind him. 

“ Slie must be rather happy living in a sweet place like that.” he 
said to himself, looking up to Juniper Bank. And he climbed the 
slope that oveiiooRed Bertha’s garden. 

The impulse under which Sir Neil was acting could hardly be 
said to be one of mere kindliness and anxiety to know how Bertha 
had fared after the accident in the bay. He could not have ex- 
plained it to himself. Ever since he had talked to Bertha outside 
his own garden w^all he had wished to know more of her. The 
nearer the months drew to his own marriage with Caroline Frazer, 
the more he felt that life was not shaping itself for the future of 
happiness to which he had been looking forward. His winter in 
America had slackened the reins of affection. The more he came 
• in contact with Caroline he became aware that beneath the pleasant 
exterior there was a hard commonplaceness of character. Even her 
habits, he was obliged to admit to himself, were not those he could 
have hoped for in a simple Scottish maiden. If he explained her 
obvious enjoyment of good things to himself, he said it was proba- 
bly the change of circumstances in earl}’’ life that had brought it 
about. For observation had told him that people suddenly lifted 
from mean conditions to affluence are apt to wallow in material 
pleasures. Not that he used such an expression to himself in con- 
sidering the character of the girl to whom he was engaged; far 
from it. He was a loyal 5'oung man; but the first glamour of love 
being over, he could not choose but see what fell under his own no- 
tice. And one thing it pained him acutely to see was that Caroline 
sometimes looked overpowered, as if she had drugged herself; the 
drugs he suspected to be alcoholic. 

Then his relationship with her father had begun to be a little irk- 
some. No doubt it was a great thing to have the Boulderstone 
property upon a new footing, which would allow him and his 
mother to take their plape in the world again. But there w^as an 
undertone of mastership in the manner of Mr. Frazer that was new 
to Sir Neil Dutton. What Mr. Frazer planned he executed, with- 
out deviation to the right hand or the left. He submitted no sug- 
gestion, and he would take none. The property might have been 
his own, so absolutely did he deal with it. And he did not take Sir 
Neil into his confidence so deeply as to tell him how far his plans 
were to extend. 

Then above and beyond his own affairs the young man knew not 
how to range himself. Asking himself what he was, he could find 
no answer. He could not tell whether he were seriously a politician, 
though daily communications informed him that in the borough of 


110 


BOULDEllSTOI^E. 


Westlands men were discussing him as a Liberal who was one day 
to contest the seat. He had never assured himself as to what he 
meant to live for; though that he must live for something beyond 
mere self an. overmastering impulse told him. He had dabbled in art, 
he had looked into the surface tendencies of science, he had played 
hattledoor and shuttlecock with the subject and object of philoso- 
phy, he had even raced a little and gained and lost; yet none of these 
things satisfied him. If love were to be a failure too, what remained? 

He walked over Bertha’s terrace with a contused sense of being a 
waif on the face of the earth. Standing for a moment on the edge 
of her garden and looking down into the valley, he wished he had 
been born without title, without estates, so that he might pursue the 
by-ways of life unnoticed and unknown. 

Bertha was writing at her open window as he went across to her 
door. 

“ 1 just stepped up to the bank, to see how you were, Miss St. 
Clair.” 

Bertha came out and invited him into her cottage. 

“ You are very kind, sir; I took no harm from the accident at all. 
The worst was over before 1 landed from the yacht.” 

But she was not looking as he had seen her the first time at the 
ferry. There was a sweet repose in her that seemed now to be 
dashed with anxiety. He attributed it to the event in the bay. 

“ Y’ou really had a very narrow escape from being drowned.” 

. ” 1 don’t think 1 should have been drowned in any case.” 

” Don’t you know’^ that the boat went down in a couple of min- 
utes’ time? But perhaps you believe in special providence?” 

” I don’t know; but I can swim,” said Bertha. 

“ A.nd so you would have been your own special providence?” 
And Sir Neil, looking at her with respectful admiration, then went 
on to say, ” 1 told you once I should have to come to you for ideas.” 

Bertlia smiled pleasantly, and they sat down on the garden seat. 
Her presence seemed to invite confidence, and he broke out abruptly, 

“ I’m going into Parliament, don’t you know, and yet as 1 came 
up the path to your house 1 couldn’t help feeling that there wasn’t 
anything in life to do.” 

“I find a great deal to do, and 1 thought Parliament was the 
place where the greatest and noblest work could be done.” 

“ Well, 1 shall have to make speeches and that sort of things be- 
fore getting in, but my experience of lile is that parliaments do very 
little for people. You get along because you believe in your 
work. But what do you consider your work. Miss St. Clair — 
the charity-school or — or things in general? From what 1 can hear 
of the foreshore, you beem to be a great deal mixed up with busi- 
ness. Shall 1 lei) you what my banker said of you the other day — 
the provost, that is? Well, he said you were a — he’s not very flat- 
tering, the old pi'ovost— ‘ Toon Cooncil,’ a committee of public 
works, a chamberlain, and a something else, all in one; in fact, 1 
suppose he means that you are a politician.” 

“No, 1 know nothing of politics; but living here by myself I 
have come to learn one may do some good by a little attention to 
one’s neighbors. One day long ago 1 woke up to find that I was too 
comfortable. On the foreshore there was nakedness and hunger. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


Ill 


It came to the cottage on tiny legs, and showed itself in pale, dying 
faces. Well, I was not wealthy, bull bad abundance, and some- 
thing over. They gave me the charify-scbool. 1 got to know tbe 
*tory of eveiy needy life from the children. I saw them in their 
homes; and by and by, liaving taught myself what served for teach- 
ing boys who were returning from sea to the boats instead of going 
tack to sea as mates, 1 was able to help some families better even 
than by giving them money; for the mates help the old people. And 
now, with Captain Jansen's assistance, the most badly off may live 
independent live?, for they all have boats. Even healthier and 
brighter lives they may lead, because 1 have been able to teach many 
ot them the value of the sea-breeze they shut out of their housOvS, and 
to lighten up their little roSms with flowers. That is my work; but 
it is not politics.” 

” He’s a good fellow, Jansen, 1 should say. A relative, isn’t he?” 

“ No; he is only an old friend of my father’s and now my best 
friend in Boulderstone. ” 

Then there was silence for some minutes. Sir Neil should have 
gime away. He had made his inquiries and given his sympathy. 
Yet he lingered. 

” To tldnk of you going into these linkers’ caves, too. 1 met a 
party of them. They are. without exception, the most atrocious- 
looking scoundrels 1 ever saw'. ” 

” Nobody does anything for them,” said Bertha, ‘‘They have 
been driven away from the town. How could you think they would 
look or behave like other people?” 

” Well, 1 suppose that is the case; only 1 don’t see what is to be 
ffone for them— indeed 1 don’t. They won’t fit into any scheme I 
can think of. Christianity can’t, or at any rate doesn’t do it; poli- 
tics won’t. I see nothing for it but isolation and police regulations, 
and that sort of thing. ” 

” Politics makes people hard,” said Bertha, quietly. 

“ What would you substitute? There are the churches in Boul- 
derstone. Do you think the churches can do anything?” 

Bertha had gone to church as a matter of habit all her life; it was 
a routine of sitting and rising, singing and musing, that came 
round once a week. She had never known it to do anything for 
poor people except to terrify some ot them when they were dying, 

” Mr, Petersen is a kind, good man,” she said, the Church em- 
bodying itself to her mind in his person at that moment, ‘‘ but the 
Church iu Boulderstone is asleep. 1 can not see that the story of 
Galilee has any connection witli what they do and say out of fheir 
places of worship. They meet at the old cross each Sunday and 
take away each other’s characters.” 

“ You are as much at sea as 1 am. Miss St. Clair, only you fall 
back upon work and human kindness, while I am still debating 
what w'ork to fall to. And 1 haven’t a margin of tenderness lor 
everybody like you,” 

‘‘1 am not tender to everybody,” said Bertha, remembering with 
a flush the kind of emotion Mr. F razer’s words had roused in her. 

“ 1 should like to send my man up with a salmon some of these 
days,” said Sir Neil, risin<r. ‘‘I’m a good deal about the river, 
you know. 1 thiniv you can fell me more about my people than 


112 


BOULDEKSTOXE. 


any one. Then I should like to compare ideas a/^ain with you on 
some things.” 

“ But it is ot no use, Sir Neil. Your manager has begun already 
to do many things at the foreshore you might have prevented. He 
is pulling down houses already, and the people are throwui out in 
the cold.” 

Ah, that is only to shift the slate-workers further round the 
shore nearer their work. That will turn out all right, 1 know.” 

” But he has been to Sandstone, and the roofs are being taken off 
some of the houses— Sandstone, where the pilots have been for hun- 
dreds of years. They are as old as you, sir— as old in blood and in 
habitation.” 

” There is an emigration scheme to meet that, don’t you know?” 

“ And do you suppose the Sandstone pilots can be turned away 
to the south of the world at the first bidding? Do you think they 
have no love for the old cliffs their forefathers have clung to? is 
the voice of the sea to be taken out of theii hearts at one w'rench be- 
cause it suits your man of business to send them away? The pilots 
will stand by their cliffs, sir, if they should starve.” 

” And don’t you think it a little irrational?” 

” Do you love Boulderstone, Sir Neil Dutton? then ask j^ourselt 
if the love of it is any more rational than theirs?” 

'• 1 hope to convince you that our schemes are better than you 
suppose them,” said the baronet, holding out his hand, though 
some of the schemes he had heard of for the first time from Bei - 
lha’s lips. 

“ At any rate, 5 mu will let me have the privilege of being counted 
among your friends whatever occurs.” 

And they shook hands and bade each other a quiet “ good-night.” 


CHAPTER XXVll. 

SCANDAL. 

One morning Oscar, Captain Jansen’s retriever, and Fidget, 
Bertha’s terrier, met on the bridge of the Boulder. Whether they 
had made an appointment to meet there it is not easy to determine; 
but in the cheerful sunshine of that particular day the retriever 
looked by no means surprised when he saw his little slate-blue 
friend trotting toward him from the road that led from Juniper 
Bank. Properly speaking, the retriever was the dog who knew the 
town, as he belonged to it; but the terrier at once took charge ot 
his large friend, and after mutual signs of welcome had been inter- 
changed, they set off at a smart trot, Fidget, with his ears half 
erect, turning his head occasionally from side to side to feel sure 
that his leadership was being respected. First of all, Fidget led Os- 
car down by the side of a wall to the river and indicated to his com- 
panion that there was something to be done at that spot. Nor had 
Oscar long to wait. Two plump brown rats, with tails like the 
thong of a whip, made their appearance on the shore; the small 
dog gave a growi of satisfaction, and the large one rushed forward, 
made two deep gur-gura and a crunch, and the rats lay with their 
legs in the air. 


11.3 


BOULIJKUSTONK. 

Fidget llien stepped forward with a sliglitly pompous mien, took 
one ot the warm rats between liis teeth, and led the way back to the 
bridge. 

Two collies which were going on the bridge at the heels of their 
master turned round and looked at him'with admiration, though 
Fidget was much inclined to drop the rat, run after the sheep-dogs, 
and bark at them as he had seen them bark behind a sea of bleating 
wool. 

Advancing from the bridge, the pair, in the same order, went into 
town, where they passed Swanson’s inn. Fidget gripped his rat, 
and trotted by a couple of speckled carriage-dogs with a bragging 
gait, a growl escaping Irom- between his preoccupied teeth as the two 
aristocrats, shivering, disappeared behind the front door. 

A large Newfoundland dog, however, sitting in the shade, opened; 
one eye and looked satirically at the dead rat in the terrier’s teeth, 
knowMng lull w^ell that his old friend Oscar had been the death of it. 
Fiuget, accordingly, with the sense of dignity which was given him 
to compensate for a lack of size, dropped the rat, leaped at the re- 
poseful face ot the sarcastic Newfoundland and fasteue^l his teeth 
in a Plack nostiil. Then, retiring behind Oscar, he added a few 
interjaciilatoiy barks to the deep thunder of two masterful fighters. 

The Newfoundland and retriever tore each other, tugged each 
other over and over on the hotel pavement, shed blood, and would 
have shed more, had not a window opened from above and the 
dregs of a coliee-pot come suddenly upon them, warm and surpris- 
ing. Then Fidget again resumed the command, and his bleeding 
comrade trotted after him. 

“ Captain Jansen’s dog, wi’ the school-mistress’s terrier setlin' 
his back up,” roared Boots in the mean tiing through the corridor 
of tne inn. 

And the commercial travelers in the parlor, who had not ycl gone 
for the day with their samples, winked at each other; wdiile Swmn- 
son, whose wife was trying to mal^ him feel himself de trap in the 
room, made the observation that the captain and the school- mistress 
were ” gettin’ thicker and thicker.” 

By the time Fidget reached the center of Boulderstone he dropped 
his rat finally; he saw that other dogs gave him no credit for it. So, 
with H little ill-nature, as became a dog who allowed his mistress to 
associate with another dog’s master, he made direct for a butcher’s 
door. 

It happened that Mr. Moore, “ the flesher,” had got exposed at 
his door a variety of carcasses of all shapes and sizes, and that one 
square of red ribs appealed to the eye of B'idget with overpowering 
force. There were four ribs; two apiece; and there w^as no lime for 
reflecting deeply, as the butcher had seen their approach. 

For a moment the image of his mistress must certainly have oc- 
curred to Fidget, lor he sneaked unmistakably as he approached 
the ribs. So, indeed, did Oscar, who timidly advanced in the rear 
of the terrier. 

It was all over, however, in less than a minute. B''iclget seized 
the ruddy piece of flesh; Oscar followed with a joint, and made off 
through the square with a tumbling precipitancy w’hich gave the 
butcher time to hurl the handle of an ax with alarming precision. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


il4 

“ It’s the damned skipper and the school-mistress,” swore Mr. 
Moore, as he saw his beef disappear up a street near the corner of 
the Town Hall, 

‘‘ It’s .that damned skipper and the school-mistress,” he repeated, 
to the iron-monger, who came oiil with apron and spectacles to bet- 
ter understand the appearance of the projectile, and he vouchsafed 
no further reply after he had picked up the handle which lay at his 
door. 

Meanwhile the dogs got beyond the town precincts as rapidly as 
they^ could, a small retinue of hungry acquaintances following well 
behind them, and silting down in the shadow of a dike, they ate 
the beet with no present pang of conscience. Neither ot them w'ere 
ungenerous dogs, but they allowed a circle ot sorrowful faces to 
gather within a few feet of them and went on gnawing as if they 
w^ere themselves the only dogs in Christendom. 

Boulderstone w’as not liberally supplied with water. With the 
exception of one or two gardens which had wells of their own, there 
was but one general well in the place. The ” Wall,” as it was 
called, was ns much an institution as the Braes-head, the Bank, the 
Cross, or the Market. The deep spring wms covered over by a large 
round toiver, adorned with an iron handle and alormidable spout; 
and it was no uncommon thing for two or three dozen women, 
with kits ” and hoops, to find their w'ay there. 

Many public questions were settled at the Well; it was the local 
exchange for gossip, and no domestic servant ot any standing in the 
town allowed any engagement or task to stand between her and her 
visit to the well at the hour she had proposedjo herself. 

The evening of the day on wliicli Oscar and Fidget had taken 
away their own characters in the public market, there was a re- 
spectable number of females gathered at the rendezvous. 

They ranged themselves in three groups, each female standing 
inside her hoop, waiting, most of them arms akimbo, with looks 
of patient resignation. The inner group had laid aside its hoops, 
and was standing in an attitude ot readiness, kits in hand, to take 
the place of the promiscuous crowd nearest the spout, which, with 
various screams and exclamations, was handing up- its pails to be 
filled. 

It sometimes happened that a tall carter stopped his horse and 
gallantly strode down to the pump-handle, and left an enduring 
impression of his politeness on the hearts ot the assembled group. 

That was not the case this evening. A stout woman, with a head 
of exceedingly red hair and a bold, clean face, worked the handle. 
She was a perfect Amazon in strength, and with the knuckles of 
her right hand pressed to her ribs, she moved the ponderous rod of 
iron as freely with her left as it it had neither w^eight nor friction. 

” Weel, she’s an obleegin’ cratur’ that, too,* said one ot the 
outermost group, arms a imbo, hoping that Madae KnOckaiTs zeal 
:for work w’ould last till she got her supply of water. 

She’s no' takin’ exercise for naething,” replied a hard-featured 
woman who had not come for gossip, and whom disappointment at 
the size of the crowd had rendered a little bitter in view ot the time 
it would take her to reach the spout. 

” Hoots, woman, Madge s a decent woman, nool That taupie 


BOULDERSTONE. 


115 


wba drives the cairt to the steamer, ain faither tae her last bairn, 
’s gaun tae mairry her. lie's but auchteen, an’ ]\Iadge’s mair than 
thretty, but she’s threelened him that muckle he’ll hae to mairry 
her.” 

” Puir cratur! Madge’s taen up wi’ seven or aucht afore him. 
Betsy Cormack tell’t me she saw the Laird o’ lobster Keep gang 
sneakin’ doon her lane the ilher nicht. What wad he be wantin’, 
1 wonner? The cairler maun be daft tae tak’ a woman wi' sax 
bairns tae ilher men.” 

” Madge wad murder him, woman, if he didna.” 

” Says I to her, says I, I’ve been wi’ the county families a’ my 
life, an' nane o them daur tae speak tae mein that w^ay.” The 
speaker was another of the outer ring, a red-armed, full-chested 
wench, with dark eyes and a determined manner, who addressed a 
small, pale girl. 

‘‘]\Iicht 3 ’-, kimmer, that’s naething. Ye get yer meat an’ yer 
drink frae the minister’s wife. At oor hoose a’thing’s locked up, 
frae the meal-barrel tae the tea-caddy. There’s no' a pint o’ a 
preen’s wmrth ootside a press door.” 

. ” Puir thing, ye’re rale stairvt-like,” said a matron, overhearing 
the conversation. 

‘ If it was me 1 wad steal,” put in another girl, her advice 
changing into indignation as a sunburnt neighbor suggested she 
saw “ that brotch on ane o’ the provost’s sisters twa Sabbaths ago,” 
the ornament in question being at the adviser’s throat. 

” J\Ie, Madge, me, me,” shouted three voices from the innermost 
group, while three pairs of red arms held up pails at the same time. 

“Ane at a time, or I’ll stan’ doon,” cried Madge, in a strong 
masculine voice, indisposed to become judge as to the claims of the 
rivals. 

Meanwhile, in the middle of the group a great chattering of 
tongues was going on, which showed that some common object of 
interest was being discussed. Loud above all the sound of discus- 
sion w’ere such vigorous fragments of speech as ” Ye limmerl” 
” Ye double-faced hizzyl” ” Ye lee er!” 

When the noise hod somewhat subsided, and the argument had 
fallen back to two speakers, it was apparent ihat Captain Jansen 
and Bertha St, Clair were the subjects of it. 

” Ou, but ye’re maybe chief wi’ him yersel; ye’ll maybe mairry 
him,” said a stout-bodied, sharp-featured woman to a little pugna- 
cious looking creature at lier side. 

” If 1 was tae tell Jean Scott wdiat ye said enoo, it’s no muckle 
ye wad ever get frae Captain Jansen’s gairden or table.” 

” Tell her, ye limmer, an’ ye’ll fin’ that Jean Scott kens as weel 
as ither fowk that Captain Jansen’s daft aboot the mistress.” 

"Aweel, bigger men than the captain micht be daft at3oot her. 
Wha’s halt sae winsom’ as she is? AYha has her een, or her smile, 
or her walk — wmll ye tell me? Wha has her kind heart? Whatna 
ither lassie i’ Bootberstane wad hae gane oot an’ in whan the fivver 
an’ sma’ poks W'as on the foreshore? She’s no’ nane o’ yer brazen 
sort that pits a track in yer hauii’ and dichts her kids aifter it’s 
ower. Na; it’s rhubarb an’ aipples an’ eggs that she’ll gie ye, wi’ a 
kind word o’ her ain. ” 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


116 

“ I never got any o’ her aipples an’ eggs,” said the other speaker, 
rather overcome by the torrent of her neighbor’s eloquence. “ But 
she wadna be the first that’s been winsome, an’ had een an’ a smile 
an’ a’, but that was got the better o’. An’ the^ cap’n’s a rale brisk, 
likely fallow. He might be as young as Madge’s man, tae look at 
him. Me, Iiladge, me,” she continued, pushing her way to a place 
at the spout. 

“I’ll see ye—” exclaimed the mother of seven children, striding 
down and into her hoop. 

Madge had no character; she gloried in having none; but she 
had overheard enough to know that two people who had characters 
were in the mouth of- a woman she hated. 

“Madge’s gettin’ prood,” said the gossip, loudly, ascending to 
the handle, “ because she’s gettin’ a man, puir deevil. She’ll kame 
his heed for him.” 

Madge made no response; but as the gossip went round ^ the 
corner from the Wall, the crowd of women were aware that a kitful 
of water met her in the face; and those of them who did not hurry 
away in alaim laughed to see the poor wretch drenched. Their 
jokes were a little rough at the Boulderstone Well. 

In such fashion did Fidget and Oscar, passing together at the 
outset of the conversation, unwittingly steal a way the fair names of 
their mistress and master. 


CHAPTER XXYIIl. 

SAILING THE “PETREL.” 

The steamer from the “ Sooth ” was lying at the harbor of Sand- 
stone when Captain Jansen stepped along the quay one day. In 
the roadstead, between the light-house and the harbor, there was a 
number of vessels of various sorts and sizes, and boats were con- 
stantly passing between the village stairs and the bay. 

As the captain strolled down to the point, clearing numerous 
ropes with his legs, a burly figure rose from a “ paul,” on which he 
had been sitting,"and jerked over his shoulder a half-smoked cigar. 
He was a hairy man, and might have been a poodle, a terrier, or a 
small lion, without much change on the part of Nature. 

“ Right glad 1 am to see you, Jansen; 1 thought 1 was going to 
fill up this time without a shake of your hand.” 

Jansen shook his friend’s brown hand and took a fat cigar out of 
ic. “1 can’t say, John Jansen, that you’re the man you were six 
months ago. What the devil, man — is it such dry weather lyin’ 
ashore?” and the man-terrier made a counterfeit tumbler of his fist, 
and quaffed it in a succession of rapid pantomimic gestures. 

“ You’re dry, are you, George?” asked Jansen, with a faint 
smile. “You can have the window o’ the inn up there if you like 
it, and anything you want to order.” 

“Right you are, Jansen; there’s some hope for you yet; we’ll 
turn in an’ have a horn o’ brandy. Come along, harbor-nraster. A 
horn apiece at John’s expense— rich John Jansen, a shore going 
gentleman of high degree.” 

The speaker was the captain of the steamboat “Petrel.” He 


BOULDERSTONE. 


11 ? 


^as aD old friend ot Captain Jansen; they had been shipmales in 
eailier life, and had never quite lost sight of each otlier; they saw 
each other often now that Captain Brotchie had become master of 
the steamer on the station. 

They were speedily established at the inn window, from which 
Brotchie could see down into his ship, where the cook was stagger- 
ing from the galley with steaming pots, and a couple of stokers 
leaned over the bulwarks with a line in their hands trying to coax 
some fresh fisli aboard. 

The harbor-master, an old seaman, who had not been afloat since 
his youth, took his place beside them a little nervously — anxious, 
as it were, to have his brandy, but not unaware that his wife’s 
kitchen window overlooked the quay, and knowing that, if his 
footsteps had been traced, he might be summarily recalled to his 
duty. Captain Brotchie, to tell the truth, was himself a little nery- 
ous, for he had a confidence to bestow, and he was not sure how 
much “ chsfl: he might have to stand. So he took the initiative. 

“Jansen,” he began, withdrawing his glass from the thicket of 
hair above which his eyes gleamed, “ you must be up to the stern- 
posts in money.” 

His friend twirled liis glass without speaking. 

“ You look .so devil i.sh miserable, you must have more of it on 
your mind than’s good* for ye.” 

“ 1 have enough, Brotchie, to last my time.” 

“ Well, that’ll be but a short time, friend, if you don’t improve 
in your appearance.” 

“ Off with it. Another horn here, missis.” 

And the stoups were deposited forthwith. 

“ Ay, Jansen, it’s wonderful to think that you should be a shore- 
going gentleman and me still afloat— me that was in steam when 
yoi were tackin’ the North Sea in a pot-lid.” 

“ Thank ye, George, fl he pot-lid would have given a clean pair 
of heels to the ‘ Petrel,’ even wi’ you on the bridge. She w'ould 
that. I’m sometimes sorry 1 ever parted with her. I’ll waken up 
at night, believe me, and put the lamp in my window, and go down 
my ^rden, and stay through a whole watch.” 

“ Ye will, will ye?” asked Brotchie, excitedly. “Then you’re 
my man, John; there's a wench w^aitin’for me at the pier o’ Leith, 
an’ the next time bar the next that 1 come back here I’ll be a mar- 
ried man.” 

The harbor-master looked at the door again with a marked ex- 
pr passion of timidity. 

“ Is it true, George Brotchie?” 

“ A God’s truth,’' said the captain, devoutly. 

“ flow did you ever come to do it, George? You’re as old as 1 
am. Is she young or old?” 

“ She’s eighteen.” 

Jansen reached his arm over the table and shook his friend’s hand 
a little grimly. 

“ Your courage beats Bannagher,” remarked the harbor-master, 
in a subdued tone. “ But, George, wasn’t, there something about a 
weddin’ at Gottenburg?” 


118 


BOULDERSTONE. 


“ Lies— clamned lies,” repled Brotcliie, gruffly. ‘ She’s the first 
1 ever cast eyes oa with that intention.” 

” Well, George, you ken best,” asserted the liarbor-master; ” but 
you'll find thorns in the pillow, or I’m mistaken.” 

” You’re a Job’s comforter, too. Do 3 ^ou suppose because you’ve 
got a thistle at your lug 1 must have the same? Nothing o’ the 
sort. Betsy’s young; she’s good-tempered, leastways when she’s 
not roused; she’s got a good pair o’ red cheeks, and she thinks 
Georj^e Brotcnie the only true man she ever set eyes on. Many’s 
the time her mother — 1 lodge with her mother— has threatened me 
with the sheiifli’s officer wfflen Betsy came between me and my 
debts. That’s Betsy !” and he deposited a carte-de-vuite in which the 
photographer had put in all the color of the cheeks, the deep blue 
of the dress, and the bright scarlet and yellow’^ of the necktie. Betsy 
had a blazing face, an evil look in her eye, and was forty at least. 

‘‘She’ll be a girl of character.” observed Captain Jansen, at a 
loss what to say by way of criticism. 

” 1 would like to hear any one say a word against her character,” 
said Brotchie. ” She has fifty of them, if she has one, in her trunk. 
Betsy has plenty of characters. 

‘‘ 1 would think that,” was the dry comment of the harbor-mas- 
ter, having examined tlie carte. And George w^as aware, from the 
mute testimony of his friend, that the first impression of his future 
spouse was not one to inspire affectionate enthusiasm. 

‘‘Well, Jansen, it’s me that’s marryin’ her, not you; so don’t 
look so mighty melancholy. But Betsy will have a honey-moon, 
and have it on shore, and you can do me a favor. Will you sail 
the * Petrel ’ for two or three trips? The directors allow me to ap- 
point my own substitute.” 

Jansen stood up at the wdndow, and watched the “ Petrel ” as 
she floated at the side of the quay. The cargo was nearly all aboard; 
the brasses shone in the sun; he saw the door of the master’s look- 
out open, and his pipe on the table: he felt as it he were fronting a 
great gust of east wind, and as if the spray were on his face. 

‘‘ Sail the * Petrel ’? 3 will, George. 1 will, gladly, for I’ru not 
so well as when 1 was at sea.” 

‘‘It’s not this, John?” liolding up the spirit stoup. 

‘‘No, no; I’ve drunk more since we sat down than I’ve drunk 
for weeks. 1 never was a drinker. Heigh-ho!” 

“ Out with her, John; out with her. "^I’ve been candid to you; 
you be candid to me. I’ve shown you my Betsy; show me your 
Jenny or Kitty or Molly, or whatever her name maj’’ be. Heigh-hol 
say you? And it’s not the stoup that’s done it. Of course it’s a 
woman. If you carry her about with you as 1 do my wite-to be, 
you’re in honor bound to lay her face on that table.” 

And Captain Brotchie made the stoups dance with the weight of 
his fist on the table. 

Jansen thought of Bertha, as indeed he was now always doing, 
but remained mute. 

‘‘ Harbor- master,” continued Brotchie, ‘‘you know the wenches 
on this coast. You know friend Jansen’s. He’s a sly one, too. 
Out with it.” 

. ” ’Deed, Captain Jansen, they say there’s a something goin’ on 


BOULDERSTONE. 


119 

between yourself and the bonny school-mistress, Miss bt. Clair, at 
Juniper Bank. A fine strappin’ lass, Captain Brotchie; not so full 
built and highly painted as the craft you have in tow, but strap- 
pin’ and fair, with an eye like the polar star.” 

“ Not another word about Miss St. Clair,” said dansen, firmly. 

She’s as high above me as the polar star is above the ‘ Petrel ’ 
when she’s making the headland in the midnight. I’m an old man; 
she’s but a girl.” 

Captain Jansen had overstated his case. He was almost passion- 
ate in his denial of love. 

“ Ay, John, you’re bitten sore,” said his hirsute friend, sympa- 
thetically. ” But you’ll run the ‘ Petrel ’ for me?” 

‘‘ 1 will that with pleasure.” 

And Jansen, going out, stepped down into a pilot-boat which was 
setting its sail for the river-mouth. He could not leave without 
bidding farewell at Juniper Bank, but still he was unable to tell 
Bertha of the love he bore her. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

AT THE CROSS. 

Several times in the course of the year the town of Boulderstone 
bad a visitation of saints. 

The saints were known as ” the men.” How they came to be 
called by that name it is hard to say, tor, meeting one of them on 
the edge of a moor, as he trudged in to the county town from the 
hills on the border of the county, it would not have struck an ob- 
server that manliness was his distinguishing feature. 

The “ man ” was arrayed in a cloak of blue stuff which enveloped 
him from his chin to his heels. It fastened at his throat with a 
strong brass chain; and it one hand were free, it carried a red 
handkerchief in which a Bible jostled a snuff-box. The “ man ” 
had frequently no hat on his head, and his hair was then seen to be 
cropped close to his skull. 

His pace along the dusty highway was a crawl; and when there 
was the sound of wheels or the clatter of hoofs, he would bring 
himself to his knees at the roadside in an attitude of prayer. 

Like the Puritans of old, he prayed with a strong nasal accent; 
if he used the English language at all, it was with a marked Gaelic 
intonation. 

When he reached town from his hovel among the hills many 
doors were thrown open to him. His gift of prayer was courted by 
many who feared his power of cursing. 

The “ man,” or ” crony,” as he was sometimes called, when he 
arrived at the recognized position of being a saint, had the reputa- 
tion of moving heaven by his appeals, either in the direction of 
beatitude or misfortune. 

But he held his position in virtue of a more definite attribute than 
that. 

The ” man ” was opposed to the minister, whose training at the 
secular colleges he regarded as an insult to the “ grace of God ” 
under which he himself preached^- 


120 


BOULDERSTONE. 


To be able to tell others of the “ s:race of God ” there must, in 
the “ man’s ” opinion, be no other inspiration than that received 
from Bible knowledge and personal piely. It happened, therefore, 
that at the Sacrament season, in the fields or church-yards outside 
the vaiious places of worship of Boulderstone, there might be heard 
five or sis different voices, Celtic and nasal, telling surrounding 
crowds that preaching was foolishness— all preaching, except that 
of the “ men,” 

And some of them, with strong imaginations and no lack of 
words, were able to rouse the people who surrounded them to a keen 
sense of a hell where there was no joy and an eternity where there 
was no hope. It was due to their power that all the placed pastors- 
of Boulderstone should treat them with a certain amount of respect, 
even though they received abuse at their hands. 

The only class which handled them suspiciously was the lawyers. 
When a ‘‘ man ” was put up in the witness-box of theSlierifl: Court 
the judge invariably kept an eye on the arm that was raised for tak- 
ing the oath. It was known to be a tradition among them that an 
oath taken with the left hand up had no sanction, and the piety of 
a ” man ” did not affect his imagination. He lied with fervor and 
sincerity whenever he had a mind to, and the quality of his con- 
science was such that he never looked back upon the lies with re- 
gret, unless it was to deplore their inutility for a given purpose. 

Mr, Frazer early became aware of the use the ” cronies ” might 
be put to in connection with his numerous schemes in the country- 
side. He had at first thought the local pastors tire best agents he 
could employ in recommending certain lines of duty to the people 
which would square with his own plans. But there was a little 
dirty work to do, and though his gold had been seen in the 
“ plates ” and “ missionary boxes ” of all the churches, he knew 
that what he proposed would not be undertaken by any of them. 
Nor was it necessary. He had already got a scandal afoot in con- 
nection with the school-mistress. He would now have her de- 
nounced at the church door by a “ man.” 

It came about, therefore, that Donald M’Coul, a sun-tanned saint 
with a raucous voice, who had come into Boulderstone Sacrament 
for forty years, found himself the richer by a ten-pound note one 
Saturday evening. The whole thing was arranged with the utmost 
simplicity. Mr, Frazer had not even sent for Donal.i M’Coul. 

He had been standing one afternoon at the door of the bank, con- 
versing with his friend the provost, when a figure in an indigo man- 
tle crept past. 

‘‘That’s the holiest man in the country-side, sir,” observed the 
provost; ‘‘ his meat and drink is prayer. Folks have been known 
to travel forty miles on loot to get his blessing. That’s Donald 
M’Coul the crony..” 

The provost had no great idea of the cronies; but he was aware 
that the soft spot in the nature of the reformer was theology, and 
those who professed it in any of its branches, 

‘‘ Good-day to ye, provost,” said Mr. Frazer, without waiting for 
further conversation; and before Donald M’Coul had reached the 
town bridge, where he had made up on him, he began, 


BOULDEllSTONE. 


121 


“ Well, Donald M’Coul/’ in a tone ot mingled plaiutlveness, 
kindness, and pomposity, as the old man halted above the tirst arch. 

Donald surveyed him Irom beneath his shaggy e 3 'ebrovvs, and gave 
utterance to a little moan, as if they were fellow -sufferers from a 
common malady. 

“ This is a blessed day for the country,” said Mr. Frazer, looking 
out on the sunlight which was blazing on the brown river and the 
fields. 

” It’s Gode that is to be thaukit, then.” 

“ It is that; it is that ” 

” Ay, hut if ye havena the grace o' Gode, an’ the knowledge o’ 
His salvation through the redeemin’ blood o’ the Lamb ,you’re nae 
better than the dirt on the road. No; not than the dirt on the 
road!” cried the crony, raising his voice to a sudden, shrill intona- 
tion, as if he were addressing a crowd. 

” To be sure, to be sure. Without salvation, Mn M’Coul, and 
the knov^ ledge of the truth, we are poor creatures. I’m just on the 
road to the castle. I think I can say from the baronet that you 
would be welcome there.” 

” Ye’ll be Mr. FTazer,” said the cronj^, relaxing into soft voca- 
bles. ” Ye have a blessed name, Mr. Frazer;” and the sentence 
was terminated by a long benediction in Gaelic. 

” It has pleased God,” replied Mr. F'razer, ” to take away the 
language from me. 1 have not spoken it since my youth. Would 
you believe me, Mr. M’Coul, it has gone ciean out of my memory.” 

” It’s a peety, too. But your hert, Mr. Frazer, is as good as if ye 
knowed no itliei — blessed be Gode, blessed be Gode.” 

” You’ll be pleaching in Boulderstone to-morrow?” 

‘‘I’ve preached at the Sacraments tor forty years at the Cross, 
come Sawbath, an’ I’ve been the means ot savin’ many lost souls. 
Oh, that the windows o’ hevinn wad open an’ pour forth the Speerit 
an’ the Lamb on the minister o’ this toon!” 

‘‘ Yes, they would all be better to be wakened up, Mr. M’Coul. 
But there’s others. There’s a young woman at the charity-school; 
ye'll have heard of her. She’s poisoning the minds of the young, 
and she’s not clean in her morals. And she’s a fair-tongued wench. 
They don’t see through her. ” 

“ Ay, ay; an unregenerate, proud, forward girl. I’ve had words 
wi’ her. The lust o’ the flesh, and the pride d’ the eye— a whited 
sepulcher. Oh, she’s no better nor the dirt on the road!” 

” You’ll have many opportunities of exercising charity, Mr. 
M’Coul; and 1 would like you to take a few pounds and disburse 
it according to your judgment.” 

Mr, F'razer took out his pocket-book, and drew a ten-pound note 
from it, and the saint accepted it with a groan and a shake of his 
bead. 

” A word in season at the church door would be a service to the 
Lord, Mr. M’Coul. A word about the school-mistress.” 

‘‘ Ay, she’s bad, and there’s no cleanness in her. i’ll wairan’ 
that.” 

And as the crony was not going to the castle, they shook hands 
and parted. 

The Sunday'" following was a w'arm summer day. It was so warm 


122 


BOULDERSTON'E. 


inside tlie parish church that Mr. Petersen’s beadle had opened two 
of the windows; and while the big clergyman went through his 
service in his cool, emotionless manner, throwing out germs of 
metaphyj^ics and blossoms of poetry among a heap of commonplaces 
to a congregation which either yawned or slept, a shrill voice out- 
side addressed a crowd among the tombstones. It was Donald 
M’Coul, w'ho stood upon a marble tablet sacred to the memory ot a 
deceased naval captain, and who was telling his hearers of the Tar- 
tarean future that aw’aited most of them. 

At the windows of the poorer houses which commanded the 
church-yard there were here and there flaxen-haired children look- 
ing out, a w'oman with a baby in her arms, or a fisherman in undres'^ 
smoking. 

The sunlight which shone upon the saint cast a halo about him„ 
and in the pathway of the descending rays insects flashed hither and 
thither. 

From time to time, as he raised his arm and shrieked the tidings 
ot hell to a world predestined to its torture, he looked to the church 
door. 

Mr. Petersen did not believe in extended services, so M’Coul had 
not long to wait until the drowsy worshipers came out. The service 
had been shorter than usual because of the heat and the personal 
annoyauce the minister experienced by the sound of the aged speaker 
on the tombstone coming in through the window. 

Bertha had been in her pew that day. She had not heard much 
of the service; her mind was full ot little duties she had to dis- 
charge during the week. She had got so used to the even monotony 
of Mr. Petersen's style that even when he uttered one of his fine 
thoughts it struck her like an electric shock administered by some 
unknown force outside Mr. Petersen and outside herself. The girl 
walked down the worn steps of the church, and in her plain dark 
dress, with some simple spring flowers in her hat, she was a strik- 
ing contrast to the wood-merchant’s daughters, who, in all the glory 
of silk and lace, rustled out in front of her. She was a contrast to 
the blazing scarlet of the farmers’ wives who had come in from the 
country, and the queenliness ot her quiet attitude made itself felt 
among them; for no one spoke to her as she passed out. She stood 
at the old cross tor a little, looking ihiough the crowd. The warm,, 
fresh air was delightful to her senses. To live on such a day was a 
good thing tor any one with young blood in their veins. 

As her eye caught the open windows where her poor friends were 
she thought ot her dream and sighed. She did not know that they 
were pointing to her with blessings. 

The preacher saw his opportunity. 

“ Ay, there’s some that’ll go to hell onyw^ay whatever. There’s 
no salvation tor them, no grace o’ Gode in them. They were born 
in sin and conceived in iniquity. They’ll dee, an’ like deid dovvgs 
the Father of mercies will cast them oot to corruption forever.” 

Bertha looked at the bowed old man, and his keen black eyes 
were fixed on her. The vision of him in the gracious sunlight, 
where the insects were quivering, made the girl shudder. 

” Just look at her n(»o, look at lier, 1 tell ye, stan’in’ there under 
that Papist’s stane. Ye’ll be thinkin’ there’s salvation for the like 


BOULDERSTONE. 


123 


o’ her. An’ she thinks it. hersel’, in her pridefulness an’ vanity. 
Salvation — for— her,” screeched the preacher, stiuig,htenin<; his fig- 
ure as much as lie could, his voice echoing from church to foreshore 
houses—” salvaliou for her. No, I tell ye. Her life is kent to me. 
It’s better kent to Gode, that is a jealous Gode. There’s no salva- 
tion for her. She has broken the law— the laws— an’ there’s mair 
houp tor you, IVIadge Knockans, that 1 see back there, than for that 
woman,” All eyes were turned toward Bertha; not a voice was 
raised; in dumb silence they looked at her, her face wearing a be- 
wildered expression of unexpected suffering. ” Ya may girn, but 
you’re fu’ some, an’ ye’ll girn muckle mair on the day o’ joodg- 
inent. Ay, my frien’s, look at her — fair without, fause within; a 
deevil’s picter, a ruined soul.” 

“ lliiud 3 "er tongue, ye damned sweerin’ auld sinner,” cried a voice 
from the side of the church, and the grave-digger stepped forward. 

Bertha had fallen at the foot of the cross; and as she lay there 
motionless, the sun streaming down upon her unconscious frame, no 
one n^oved from the crowd. 

It was a divine intervention, God had stricken her at the word 
of His saint. Was it not unimpeachable testimony to the truth of 
his charge? 


CHAPTER XXX. 

MANAGEMENT. 

The days at the castle were very quietly spent. Lady Dutton, 
having on the advice of her doctor done many abrupt and drastic 
things since she fired tlie cannon, on the principle of shocking her- 
self into good health, had relapsed into a life of elegant languor. 

She lay in bed late, and she reclined much during the day, and 
when she read it was the inevitable French novel. 

At the dinner-fable she always appeared in a dignified and hospi- 
table atlitude to her guests. She did not care for them more than 
she cared for anything or anybody, but she realized that a summer 
of a rather tedious probation was to give her a life-time of subsequent 
case. 

The more she knew of Caroline the better she liked her as a pro- 
spective daughter-in-law. She reasoned with herself somewhat in 
this style; ” Caroline is pretty enough and graceful enough to be 
a proper appendage to Sir NeilDutton, whatever may be his position 
in life. She wUrnever be more than an appendage, which is as it 
should be. I myself overshadowed, by my influence and abilities, 
my poor husband. It shelved him. Caroline will never shelve 
Neil. And her prettiness will attract him to just as much devotion 
as a man can keep up for any woman, especially a man with his 
mind filled with public affairs. She will not thrive, however, on 
absolute neglect; and for a lover, my son seems to take a great deal 
for gi-anted at the present eai’ly stage of their attachment. But she 
has some good sense and few’ bad habits— 1 hope her love for liquors 
has declined since 1 spoke so seriously to her of the danger it in- 
curred — and her taste in dress, if extravagant, is creditable. I shall 
make it a point never to see much of her or her good father after the 
marriage; in the meantime, ‘ the game is worth the candle.’ ” 


124 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


And her ladyship would then turn to her work of fiction, her 
keen, hawk-like face as immovable as marble. 

To her Caroline presented henselt every foienoon, and Lady Dut- 
ton was secretly sui prised at the girl’s apparently boundless ward- 
robe. Caroline’s maid liked to hurry her through as much dress as 
she could wear, knowing the profitable sid9 it had for herselt. And 
Caroline enjoyed being made the subject oi ingenious experiments 
in cashmere and cambric; and her maid having an artist’s eye and 
hand, which in certain noble families had not been permitted to de- 
velop themselves freely, adorned Caroline with a fine thankfulness 
that cost did not matter. 

There was just the slightest touch of interest awakened in Lady 
Dutton’s mind at the forenoon visit of the girl. She never allowed 
herself to criticise, or even to admire; but as Caroline came softly 
into her boudoir, a gliding vision of pink cashmere, which the next 
day was exchanged for blue, another for rose, or a delicate cieam- 
coior, Lady Dutton inwardly wondeied which it was to be. Was 
it to be a cambric day, or a cashmeie day, and what was the color 
to be— pink, blue, or cream? She liked her in one as well as an- 
other, and, in spite of her silence, Caroline saw that the changes of 
her wardrobe were not displeasing to Lady Dutton. She did not 
know that the sudden access of comparative poverty had given her 
ladyship such a glimpse of the gray expanses of life that the rustle 
of costly garments, or possibility of various changes of costume, 
coming into hei boudoir were as refreshing to her ear and her eye a& 
the sounds and sights of the autumn woodland to the w^eary dweller 
in cities. Lady Dutton liked luxury; every hint that revealed to 
her that there was no more meanness of pinching to be endured was 
a secret delight. 

Caroline’s robing and re-robing was thus more than amusement 
to her. It carried the only consolation to the heart of her ladyship 
that it was capable of receiving. 

From Sir Neil, too, she was sure she had her reward. As she 
tripped into his library — he had forsaken the new library for the 
old, in the Gothic portion of the house, which overlooked the sea — 
and wound out and in among the pile of blue books, political mem- 
oirs, and papers that lay between 'him and her, he had looked up 
and called her his “chameleon.” Now, what could a chameleon 
be if it was not something to be highly admired? 

Sir Neil had gone from the new library to the old in order to let 
Mr. Frazer have a more comfortable room than the rent-house sup- 
plied. The library in the new part of the old castle was in every 
way more elegant and luxurious, but there was a coolness and space 
in the old library that suited the state of mind in which the young 
man found himself. The door-way was of oak, and swung on sand- 
stone pillars; high above the topmost shelves was the arching roof 
giving room and air. 

It was there that Sir Neil passed five hours of his day seriously at 
work among statistics of the United Kingdom, consular reports, 
foreign newspapers, and correspondence. Mr. Frazer took care that 
his young friend should have his hands full of employment which 
did not concern the estates. The correspondence from the borough 
of "Westlandg alone had grown to enormous proportions. A couple 


BOULDERSTOJTE. 


125 


of lawyers in Westlands kept several of their clerks, politically in- 
clined, at the task of plying him with questions, as if the}’’ were 
“ free and independent electors," who, at a date not very remote, 
would have the privilege of voting either for or against him. 

But the day came when Mr. Frazer thought he might intrust some 
of the facts about the improvements of the estates to Sir JNeil. All 
he had dreaded was the baronet’s soft-heart edness in the event of 
the people who were being improved showing a rebellious attitude. 
He found that the first steps had been taken without any difficulty 
of the sort, so he entered the old library one forenoon, carrying with 
him a large chart. 

“ If you have a little time to spare from matters of graver mo- 
ment, Sir Neil, 1 would like to show you how affairs are pioceeding 
with regard to the estates.” lie spread the chart on a table at the 
window. ” The Boulder runs there, you see. On the west are the 
home farm, the moors, and the quarry beyond. On the east there 
are the town, the grazing farm. Sandstone — inland, thequarnes. The 
blue ink represents the quarries, the red the hamlets au(J villages. 
You follow me?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ That’s the clean chart. Here’s a marked chart with the im- 
provements. See it you can read it?” 

Sir Neil looked at it attentively, and on the east of the river, in- 
stead of a score or two of geographical dots lepresenling steadings 
here and there, he saw a broad unmarked expanse, with two 
houses. 

” Here is nothing that 1 can make out but two steadings and a 
group of houses at the blue ink.” 

“That’s it. You’ve read it exactly. Two steadin^js remain— 
they are to be sheep farms. The rest of the population, or as much 
of it as will not go to Brisbane, will go back to the quarries. Quite 
BO. See if you can make out the plan on the west of the river?” 

“ Sandstone is gone. The Kirkdale market is oft the map. There 
are only one or two farms standing. Again the population is 
massed at the quarries.” 

“ Capita], capital! You don’t need explanations. You see it at 
once And I’m glad to say. Sir Neil, that any little difficulties 1 
might have anticipated are all smoothed away. We have taken down 
a large block of rotten houses on the foreshore; it will be turned 
into a shipping-yard for the quarries; the people in the meantime 
have accepted the sheds 1 had built for them. The fisher-people 
have found room among their friends. A.t Sandstone the roofs are 
off one or two houses. There's one man will give us trouble— Mag- 
nus, a pilot. And he keeps the rest of them troublesome. 1 expect 
to get most of them for the colonies yet. Then, this is a chart of 
the town. 1 haven’t made up my mind about it entirely; but 1 have 
some idea instead of renewing the leases of the shops on one side of 
the square, to run them into one, and supply this side of the county 
from a general store. But that’ll raise a great many locahobjec- 
tions, and the scheme will keep.lill the quarries are in working con- 
dition. In the meantime 1 have orders that will employ all the 
quarries for the next two years.” 

Sir Neil laid down the chart in silence, and stood looking out on 


BOULDERSTONE. 


126 

tlie bay and Sandstone Head, He was thinking of what Bertha St. 
Clair had said to him not Ions: before. 

“ There is only one fault to find with it all, Mr. Frazer. It treats 
the people as it they were nothing— so many units in a sum, so 
many marks on a map. 1 know that many of these people must 
object to being summarily driven from orie place to another, with- 
oui having a word to say to it. They have a right to object. They 
have been long on the land. There is Kirkdale market, for ex- 
ample. It has been a county market for hundreds of years, and 
you wipe it out.” 

“ You will never need it again. The nearest market will be the 
market the steamer carries the cattle to. It is on the quarries 1 lay 
most of the chance for the estates looking up again.” 

“ But have you no thought for the people? Besides, it seems to 
me that this very extensive dealing will bring on us a large crop of 
law suits.” 

” The county lawyers are all in my employment.” 

” Well, but look at it in the light of your political principles. I 
am only a sort of Liberal, 1 suppose. You go deeper down; you 
are a Radical, and your chief interest is tor the people. Literally, 
you are driving them out of the country. How can you reconcile it 
with your Radical convictions?” 

” My dear sir, politics and business are two very diflerent things. 
I hope 1 know my duty to my party, and 1 hope 1 can always an- 
swer for doing it. In business it is not what is according to polit- 
ical principles, but what, by the rule of three, will best bring in the 
highest returns. Boulderstone is not under political management 
just now. It is under business management. There is nothing un- 
fair in that.” 

Sir Neil was not reassured. 

” True, it is not under political management, Mr. Frazer, if you 
mean by that it is not like Wesllands, being prepared tor an election 
contest. But don’t you see that this wholesale eviction — wholesale 
as far as the leases will allow it — without the slightest consideration 
for the people’s wishes, seems to me more arbitrary than a Liberal 
politician should sanction?” 

” My dear sir, you’re but young yet, and you’ll pardon me if 1 
tell you that you don’t see things either politically oi according to 
the rules of business. It was not for argument’s sake 1 showed you 
the plans. It was to keep you enlightened with regard to the steps 
we are taking on the estates.” 

” I presume,” said Sir Neil, hotly, ” you will allow that 1 have 
some Slight interest in tlrem, and 1 may have principles of my own 
for their management.” 

Mr. Frazer had been facing an accumulation of little worries 
that day, and he was not inclined to make allowance for anything 
which looked like an obstacle. 

” No, Sir Neil, I can not allow you to have principles with re- 
gard to the estates, in their present condition. You will live to 
thank me for the measures I am taking. 1 can entertain no observa- 
tions which would hinder the plans I have determined to prosecute.’* 

” You certainly are most arbitrary in your way of going about it. ” 

The remark struck Mr. Frazer as impertinent. He was used to 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


U7 

consifler everybody with whom he dealt in (he light of a subordi- 
nate. Sir Neil he regarded as a subordinate, tor whom he was do- 
ing a mighty service. His answer was made in proportion to that 
feeling. 

“ \oung sir, there is no arbitrariness in the matter. The mort- 
gages of Boulderstone are held by me. At this moment Lhave the 
power of foreclosure in my hand, which enables me to reduce your 
estates to your house and garden— all that you own by entail. I 
am, if you like to think of it in that light, managing my own affairs;, 
you have no say in the matter.” 

‘‘ Then it seems that Boulderstone and all its concerns are simply 
the last speculation you have made, and that you have thrown Id 
the Dutton family as an incident in the investment! 1 begin to see.’^ 

And the men parted in anger. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE MINISTER AND BERTHA. 

Mr. Petersen was in his vestry when Bertha St. Clair, recover- 
ing from her unconsciousness at the foot of the cross, was supported 
into a chair by his beadle. The circumstance had made a great 
impression on bis mind— the more that he knew Bertha to be 
strong, healthy girl, little given to the tremors of her sex. 

He had kept her with him in the vestry till ” the man ” had fin- 
ished his denunciation on the tombstone, and, at the risk of being 
late for his next church service, he had walked with lier to the brow 
of the hill behind the town, where her own cottage was. 

Bertha had not been well since the episode occurred, and Mr. 
Petersen had not seen her again, though lie sent to asE after her 
health each day. She was so feeble and miserable that she could 
not meet her pupils. 

Mr. Petersen having been instructed by the committee which 
appointed her to the charity-school with the mission of telling her 
that her services were no longer wanted, put off his visit as long as 
he could. But the duty was laid upon him, and one morning, hav- 
ing heard that Bertha was so much better that she would return (i> 
her work next day, he roused himself in his study, where he was 
elbow-deep in a translation of Schopenhauer. Mr. Petersen hated 
visiting as much as he liked to pursue his way through various 
labyrinths of philosophy and theology. His study was a dusty 
apartment, the floor littered with books as they had been dropped 
from his hand while following out some subject of historical or 
philological interest. The books in his shelves were uncomely, 
many of them tattered, whole rows of them leaned in an intoxi- 
cated attitude one upon another; and the room was always filled 
with a kind of blue mist which smelled strongly, as it well might, 
being the product of the strongest tobacco the seaport couid supply. 
Next to his hooks Mr. Petersen preferred the mute, aerial fellow- 
ship of his pipe to, perhaps, anything on earth. If his affection 
for his wife could have been weighed in a balance w’ith his affec- 
tion for his pipe, it is doubtful wliicli would have w^on the day. 


128 


BOULDEKSTOXE. 


It was with great trepidation that he roused himself from his 
€lbow-chair when he heard of Bertha’s determination to be at the 
school next day. Plis great boots were brought in, and bendiog his 
stout frame to the task, he strove with the straps and grew purple 
in the face, and fiaislied the process with an emphatic stamp, first 
of oce foot and then another. 

Mrs. Petersen always hovered dutifully upon the staircase with a 
hard brush, and made angelic darts at the highest altitudes oi his 
back she could reach on the painful occasions when he felt com- 
pelled to go beyond his owm threshold. 8he was not always suc- 
cessful in removing the dust from his sluirgardly shoulders; indeed, 
considering her tiny size, a broom would have been the proper 
instrument for the occasion; only Mrs. Petersen worshiped her 
husband, and a broom would have seemed a desecration of the 
temple. 

This morning, as he passed out from the door with a “ pshaw, 
pshaw,” she was hardly able to touch him at all with the brush. 
And as he went through some streets on the way up hill it was 
noted at more than one door, ” What a disgrace it is to the minis- 
ter’s wife to let him go out with his coat like that!” 

Bertha was in her parlor when the minister knocked at her door, 
and verj’- pale and dark about the eyes he thought her, as she came 
from beside the fire to welcome him. Perhaps she had heard of the 
decision of the committee, and there would be nothing for him but 
to offer her sympathy. 

” You’ve got a severe shake. Miss St. Clair?” 

” Thanks, Mr. I’etersen but 1 am nearly well again. I shall take 
up my work to-morrow.” 

The minister inwardly groaned in spirit. Bertha did not know of 
the decision that banished her from the school. 

” But you know. Miss St. Clair,” said he, looking at her in a ten- 
der and fatherly way, “ this will never do. 1 see that you are very 
far from well. You must put all thought of the school out of your 
mind.” 

Bertha smiled, and the kind tones of the minister’s voice being 
all she had heard for a day or two, they touched her so that her eyes 
glistened with tears. 

” Oh no; 1 should be miserable if I were to stop my work. There 
is no one to take my place.” 

Mr. Petersen knew that there was a gossiping old maid who gave 
cheap lessons on the piano who was quite certain to get the situa- 
tion next; and as he looked at the stricken countenance, so full of 
sorrow, yet so sweet and frank and firm, he became a cow’^ard, and 
determined to abandon his mission to its fate. After all, why 
should lie be the one to tell her this cruel thing they had done to 
her on the strength of a rumor that he well knew to* be a lie? At 
any rate he could wait a little. He could approach the committee 
again, and renew the pleading he had already tried in vain on her 
behalf— if she could only be kept from the school in the meantime. 

” I've been thinking,” lie began again, ” that it you could per- 
suade yourself to take a change of air. Miss St. Clair, my brother’s 
people would be delighted to iiat^e you among them. lie’s a farmer 


feOULDERSTONE. 129 

in the Lothians, and I’m sure a little change and rest would do you 
a world ot good. ” 

“ But 1 can’t leave Boulderstone. You don’t quite understand. 
There’s Captain Jansen, who has been obliged to take a change of 
air for his health— he’s gone to sail the ‘ Petrel ’ for a friend. He 
has asked me to manage some things for him in connection with the 
new boats that are to tecome the fishermen’s own when they have 
paid a share of them. 1 couldn’t go, even if 1 were able to leave 
my pupils.” 

Mr. Petersen looked at her curiously. 

‘‘ You come of apolitical people, Miss St. Clair. 1 suppose the 
feeling for publics life is in your blood, and j^ou can’t help yourself. 
But, my dear girl, you are not aware of the persecution that you 
expose yourself to in throwing yourself as you do in these sort of 
enterprises. There’s that millionaire at the castle— a man, I am 
bound to suppose, who is a Christian gentleman— but you've made 
an enemy of him; you have indeed. \Yill you not think of my 
proposal? My brother’s girls are the kindest and best possible. 
They will be good to you, and you wmuld have time to think of 
what you would like to do next.” 

There was a gravity and earnestness in the minister’s address that 
Bertha could not mistake. Already she had been conscious of some 
impending danger— what, she did not know, though the assault 
made upon her at the cross by the old preacher had more than halt 
revealed it to her. As she looked at the kind face of the stooping 
figure she attempted to speak, but the words would not come. 8he 
remained speechless, and the tears slowly overflowed her ej^es, and 
before she could control herself she was sobbing bitterly. 

‘‘ Forgive me— 1 am so nervous. And you are so good to me. 
But oh! tell me what it is that has happened. Why do people turn 
their backs on me? Why am 1 looked at and pointed at? Why 
should old men malign me? Have 1 done anything wrong?” 

Her proud spirit was fairly broken; she wept freely, and through 
the mist of her tears and the deafness of anguish she was only vaguely 
conscious that a low voice w^as speaking to her in broken phrases 
about ” the peace that passeth all understanding.” 

Poor Mr. Petersen! Poor Bertha! He had just risen from a spell 
of meditation in his own study in which the mystery ot human life, 
and the darkness of the enigma of creation, and the uncertainty of 
the religions of the creeds, had been beating against each other in 
mortal combat. And here he was, by w^ay of his profession, telling 
a young girl fallen into difficulties that the consolation ot his faith 
was ” the peace that passeth understanding.” 

As he looked at her in her agony, he seemed, however, to feel 
that for this wounded spirit there was nothing if not religious faith, 
and lor the moment he cast out ot his mind all private doubts of 
his own. So in one ot the breaks in Bertha’s audiole grief he said, 
sadly: 

“We are all apt to be too self-reliant, and perhaps to forget that 
outside of ourselves there is a guiding Power by whose directions 
we must walk.” 

” Oh, why do they persecute me?” cried the girl. 

” They persecuted Christ, and the roar of their voices is ever most 


130 


BOULDEKSTOIyrE. 


loud against those they will not understand. Think ot that ijentle 
Spirit and the work God laid on Him, and how He did it, and how 
the world came round to Him long after He was laid in His Syrian 
grave. ’ ’ 

Bertha listened, and her tears ceased flowing. 

“ Take courage, my girl, and be true to your own best nature, 
and you will live down all the malignities the^ may invent. But 
be advised by me, aud give up for a time the interest you take in 
the aflairs of the people of the foreshore, and rest yourself. ’’ 

Bertha’s eyes were dry again, and she was very quiet when she 
answered, 

“But that would not betaking courage. That would not be 
daring what Christ dared.” Again bethought he must tell her that 
they had taken her school from her; and again the cowardice of his 
kindness overcame him. 

“ Then God help you, my daughter,” and bending on his knees,, 
he lifted up his light hand and prayed, 

“ Spirit of Lite and Light! Infinite TendernessI Thou hast 
placed us here and surrounded our path with darkness. Dark is the 
goal to which’ we tend — dark the path we tread in reaching toward 
it; and oh the way we faint and forget Thee. Yet we know that 
beyond the goal there is light; that the Spirit ot Life is there; that 
the Infinite Tenderness is round about us; and that if we cry out 
amid our sorrow, in faith and expectation, strength will come. 
Stumbling on the way we ask counsel of Thee. Give us of the 
courage Thou hast granted to those who have walked the earth in 
anguish before our time. Give us of their assurance that Thou art; 
of their faith that from evil good will come; ot their fidelity to their 
faith.” 

Bertha, with her fair head bowed, knelt beside the minister. 
He placed his large hand kindly upon her head. 

“ God, accept the offering ot a sorrowful heart. Breathe Thy 
peace upon her. Thou hast called her to toil and self-sacrifice; give 
but one gleam of I'hy divine light that she may see the way. And 
breathing Thy peace upon her, may the cry ot the world be as noth- 
ing in her ears.” 

“ You will promise me not to go near the school for some days,” 
said the minister, bidding her good-by, for he had some design in 
his mind. 

“ 1 shall rest some da3"s longer,” answered Bertha, with a tran- 
quillity she had not felt for a long time. 

And Mr. Petersen walked away, feeling renewed faith in his- 
work. 


CHAPTER XXXll. 

CONFIDENCE. 

Sir Neil Dutton spent two unhappy days after the revelatioc 
made by Mr. Frazer about his relationship to* the estates. He scarce- 
ly spoke to the capitalist at all; and Caroline, finding his answers 
vague, and his whole attitude toward her unsatisfactory, imitated 
Lady Dutton, and kept a good deal to her own room. For the first 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


131 


time Sir Neil felt the misery of being in another man’s power. No 
doubt Mr. Frazer meant to do the best for him, but he meant to do 
It in his own wa^, and the consciousness ot that changed the bar- 
onet’s poini of view. During these days he no longer saw himself 
as the fortunate freeman, for whom the kind gods had arranged a 
programme of wealth, love, and happiness. He was a humble slave, 
tied to the chariot^of the saccessful capitalist. He had neither power 
nor option of his own. He had not even a property beyond the 
margin of tne entailed land which stopped at the garden walls and 
the moors to tlie west of the home farm. He w'as this man’s, body 
and soul, until the marriage with his daughter should make him 
free, Free? Would he be free with Caroline Frazer at his side, 
companion for life; her whom in his hot has»e he believed he lored 
when they were afloat on a sea of dreams, but whose character he 
was daily beginning to learn he had mistaken? 

Sir Neil’s misery sat on him gracefully. He never allowed it to 
abate the courtesy of his demeanor to an}’’ one about the castle. The 
dogs, perhaps, recognized a change in him faster than anybody, but 
-even they were aware that it took no active, aggressive fornuo them. 
He only neglected them; that was all. So little did it show tliat the 
municipal authorities of Boulderstone, who dined at the castle tw’o 
nights after the conversation, only thought the young laird “ shy a 
wee,” “rale respectfu’,’’ “ ower anxious,” “may be a wee thing 
quate.” They never dreamed that he was sufiering the first real 
acute pangs of his life. 

Long after the municipal authorities had gone, and every one in 
the modern wing ot the castle was asleep, Sir Neil was silting in 
the bleak, airy library, whose windows commanded the sea, and 
opened upon the flint bulwark by which the sea in the high tides was 
kept back. A fire was still flickering in the grate, and Sir Neil was 
sitting looking into it from a low chair which was flanked by piles 
of books not yet assorted on the shelves. Lights were burning in 
the bright silver candlesticks at his desk, but they did not illumine 
tbe dark corners of the room. One ot his windows which opened 
like a door was ajar, and the young man half turned toward it from 
time to lime as sounds from without stirred him from reflection to 
a present consciousness of the world about him. 

The castle at that hour was as silent as the family vaults across 
the river; the fluttering ot a bat through the open window, a bint 
from the furthest corridors that an owl liad his nest among the 
turrets, the great mollis that sought the lights, the low wail of a sea- 
bird in his watchfulness, from lime to time broke the stillness. 

The high arching sandstone above him, the wan aspect of the 
tomes and folios, the uncertain light which had not strength to dis- 
sipate the shadows of the corners, were not inspiriting. As Sir Neil 
clasped the back of his head with his hands and stretched himself 
on his chair, he experienced a certain low level of feeling beneath 
which it was impossible for him to go. He hated to look forw^ard 
to the future, lie shrunk from the past; as he sat motionless in his 
chair he ^^as grateful to the sea-birds tor that cry of sorrow they 
sent along the shore; it seemed to say all that lie felt of loneliness,, 
disappointment, and lost hope. But as the night went on, the air 


BOULDERSTONE. 


132 

from the sea became keener, and be rose at last to fasten the window 
through which it was making its way. 

He stood for a moment, and the wind lifted the hair on his brow. 
The great world of the moving sea and the blue arching sky was 
before him. He was keenly alive to its influence. After all, he 
thought , while his ears were filled w itli the noise of the roll of surf and 
his eyes sought the trembling stars, it one brings one’s little troubles 
to this bare edge of the world they seem paltr}’- enough. He walked 
out on the bulwark; it was one ot the northern nights in which 
darkness never completely covers the sea and the land. Though it 
was not yet midnight. Sir Neil could distinguish the outline ot the 
coast as it it were early morning, with the sun breaking in orange 
and gold through the intervening mists. 

He could see the bowlders between him and the rocks, and stand- 
ing to look, as his eyes became more familiar with the objects in 
the half light, he started. On a bowlder between him and tlie rocks 
and the sea, he certainly saw a human figure— a woman bending 
toward the sea — her hands pressed to her ears. 

Could it be some poor woman watching tor her husband’s boat? 
Sir Neil did not ask the question twice; it was evidently some one 
in trouble, and that was enough for him. In a few momenls he 
had stepped across the beach and his hand was on the shoulder ot 
the figure. As the w'oman looked up with a convulsive start and 
shiver. Sir Neil saw it was Bertha St. Clair who was before him. 

“ You are cold and wearied,” he said, in a voice full of tender- 
ness, “ God knows you have reason to be. Let me help you into 
the castle.” He said no more, but gently assisted her over the 
stones, up the steps ot the bulwark, through the window of his room, 
and to the hearth where there was still some fire burning. He led 
her to a chair, and dashed at the contents of the grate until they 
flashed and blazed. Having omitted to shut the window, he went 
back and fastened it securely. 

Bertha had not spoken as yet. ‘^V’hen he returned from the win- 
dow she was sobbing quietly on her chair. 

Then he left her, and tor some minutes the girl was alone in tire 
great, weird chamber. She heard his footsteps dying away in the 
corridor, and, not knowing that he might not return with his 
mother or Mr. Frazer, she tried to subdue the sobs which shook her. 

By the time Sir Neil had returned with a decanter ot wine the 
first paroxysm was over, and Beitha was able to speak, and said, in 
a broken voice, ‘‘ They told me you would not see me.” 

“It was a falsehood; 1 was never told you wished to see me. 
Tell me how it was; and 1 am so glad there is something 1 can do 
for you.” 

He was standing with his elbow on a projection of the carved 
mantel-piece, and as she turned her pale face toward him, he read in 
her deep, tearful eyes a sorrow much profounder than his own. It 
even flashed upon him, as he looked, that the girl might have been 
waiting for the tide to put an end to the sufl^ering which seemed to 
overpower her. 

** He has taken away the school from me, and my house and my 
garden are no longer my own, and 1 have lost my character, and rny 


BOULDERSTONE. 133 

^vork is not finished; and 1 will not, oh, no, 1 will not leave Boul- 
derstoiie, and 1 shall tace it all.’' 

Then Bertha beeanie incoherent, and Sir Neil waited patiently,, 
with his elbow still on the ledge. 

“ Of course all this is Frazer’s doing. 1 thought, 1 hoped, you 
were strong enough to beat him. He- is a remorseless, cruel man.” 

The sound of his voice soothed her, and, as she looked up at him. 
again, he was rexvarded with the faintest outline ot.a smile. 

‘‘ Is it then so bad as you suppose?” he asked, looking down at 
her, and noting the slight return to calmness. 

Bertha drew two letters from her pocket and handed them to him. 
He read them rapidly, and saw at a glance how matters .stood. It 
was exactly as she had said. The school committee had dismissed 
her; the owner of the cottage and garden had sent in a bill of ar- 
rears, which he said had been accumulating tor three seasons, and 
which must be settled at once on pain of selling the furniture. He 
saw the plutocrat’s hand in both circumstances. 

“ How can 1 help you. Miss St. Clair?” 

” Speak to them; tell them it is not your wish that my school 
should be taken from me. He has done it all in your name; and 1 
knew. Sir Neil Dutton, that you were not persecuting me.” 

‘‘ But 1 am in his power,” he replied, sadly, taking a turn round 
the room, and coming back to offer her wine, which she refused. 

” You must have been very unhappy,” he added, “ to have re- 
mained through the night on that bleak strand. W%, you might 
have been drowned.” 

” Oh, no, 1 am too great a coward,” she replied, divining by his^ 
look that he thought she might have courted death. 

1 ‘‘ When they told me at the door that you had sent a message that 

you would not see me, I went out on the beach. Then your light; 
came into the window, and 1 think 1 tell asleep.” 

It was not so bad as he had thought; so, stirring the fire, he 
heaped more coals on it and sat down facing Bertha. 

“ Can you imagine Mr. Frazer’s surprise if he were to step in 
here?” he asked, the unwonted natuie of the visit beginning to ap- 
peal to him. 

But Bertha had not heard him; she was thinking of what he had 
,said about his being in the powder of Mr. Frazer and she was won- 
dering how she might help him out of it. 

‘‘ 1 did not understand,” she said reflectively, ” 1 thought he w'as 
your man of business. I believed you could do as you liked,” 

‘‘ 1 am engaged to his daughter. Miss St. Clair, and he has under- 
taken to make the estates keep us after we are married. There are 
mortgages on the estates, and he owns them. He is real proprietor 
here; 1 have only the name of it. 1 am a most unhappy man. 1 
shall, however, be master eriough to insist upon you being restored 
to the school; and you shall certainly not be touched in your cot- 
tage. 1 give you my word for it that neither Frazer nor committee 
shall gainsay me on that point.” 

Then Bertha rose, feeling that she had him on her side: but there 
was confusion in her face as she thought of the girl who was en- 
gaged to the. man before her, and, unconscious of this visit, asleep 
in another part of the castle. 


134 


BOULDERSTONE. 


“ 1 should not have been here/’ she said, passing her hand across 
her brow, “ but, oh! 1 have suffered so much, and I am not used 
to being an outcast, and they have stopped me when 1 had so much 
to do.” 

“ You shall not go yet,” said Sir Neil, firmly, but gently. ” No 
one ever comes here at this time, and if an}’ one did, 1 hope 1 should 
hnow how to protect you tiom misapprehension.” 

lie made her sit down in her chair again, and seated himself op- 
posite to her. He longed to tell her all his unhappiness, yet hesi- 
tated, thinking of her greater loneliness and misery. 

” 1 w’as voyaging in the Mediterranean last year,” he then began, 
without any remark to lead up to it, ‘‘ and Caroline Frazer was 
with us. One morning we went up a hill-side and reached a shrine. 
A snake had crept out on the road before reached it, and 1 car- 
ried Caroline in, for she had fainted. 1 am superstitious. Looking 
from Caroline to the shrine, 1 saw, or thought 1 saw, a resemblance 
between her and the sculptured saint. 1 drew conclusions from the 
likeness. 1 thought she was as beautiful in her heart and mind as 
the saint she resembled. 1 thought that life w'ould become sweet 
and pure in her very presence, and 1 longed to pledge her to me. In 
a few weeks she had promised me her love, and 1 believed it w’as 
her beauty and her worth which had drawn me to her. Not a year 
has elapsed since then, and 1 have learned — what have 1 learned? 
That the beautiful saint is cl a}’ of the comnr*onest sort — that 1, who 
imagined 1 was iu pursuit of beauty and worth, was only looking 
lor gold. And 1 am iu honor bound to this girl whom 1 do not 
love, whose father 1 have begun to hate. Could you be much more 
unhappy than that. Miss St. Clair?” 

Bertha was silent, and looked at him timidly. Something told 
her that he who makes confession of that sort is already in love with 
his confessor. She trembled a little and again rose. He stood up 
also. 

‘‘We can not help each other,” she said, regarding him with wide 
eyes, and turning to the window. It was but midnight, but there 
W’as the stir of morning beyond the bulwark. A violet light had 
come into the sky, and it seemed as if day were about to break. 
There was a sound as of singing of birds from the gardens, among 
the lime-trees— -the first uncertain piping before the morning flood 
of melody. 

” Don’t say we can not help each other,” Sir Neil replied, taking 
her hand in his own. ‘‘You have helped me much already; you 
have broken the terrible loneliness of my life. 1 now feel that, hap- 
pen wbat may, 1 have a friend who knows and who sympathizes.” 

‘‘ But,” said Bertha, withdrawing her hand, ‘‘ it is not right — you 
have pledged j’our honor.” 

” Hush! 1 am a miserable slave, and 1 know it. But let me have 
one moment—” 

She walked rapidly to the window; the candles began to flicker in 
their sockets, and presently went out, and the pair stood in the light 
of the dawn. 

‘‘ 1 fear I have been foolish and have brought you new trouble,” 
and Bertha’s pale face looked a little ghastly in the morning light. 


BOULDEKSTONE. 135 

He, too, was ghastly, in his yesterday’s dinner-dress, as' he gazed 
on her in the breaking day. 

“ Nothing could add to my trouble; 3 "Our visit has been like aui 
angel’s. But 1 shall see you home.” 

“ 1 am an outcast — 1 have no home.” 

He laid his hand upon her arm gently and respectfully. 

** Look up, Bertha. I could have loved you had 1 dared,” She 
started convulsively, and her lips moved without speech. *' 1 am 
bound to another, but you shall not want a home and friendship. 
Come.” 

And he led her out into the morning light, and arm-in-arm they 
walked toward the river. 


CHAPTER XXXI 11. 

AN EXTEMPORE DISCOURSE. 

“My woman,” said Mr. Petersen, at his tea-table one evening,, 
looking over the top of a volume relating to the qualification of the 
predicate, and addressing his wife, who was hemming tor the 
heathen, ” there is a total lack of charity among your sex. It would 
not surprise me it at the bottom of your heart '^'ou were as glad a& 
any of them that this young girl has been turned adrift.” 

'' Oh, no, pa; 1 am very sorry for Miss St. Clair, 1 am sure. But 
she has been indiscreet, and she is only suffering the natural conse- 
quences.” 

‘‘Natural consequences” was a large phrase for so small a 
woman to use. It had crept into her vocabulary from the pulpit of 
the parish church, where her husband often used it. 

Mr. Petersen disliked it, however, and, raising his spectacles ta 
his brow, he gazed at his wife and exclaimed, in an emphatic man- 
ner. 

Pshaw! with your natural consequences. 1 tell you 1 have 
been moved as nothing has ever moved me by that girl’s behavior in 
the midst of the tattle and scandal of this virulent microcosm of a 
town.” 

‘‘You are not hard to move sometimes, where prettiness is con- 
cerned, James,” said his wife, facetiously, her own gentle and 
sweet countenance lighting up as she spoke. 

‘‘ iou are frivolous, and if you understood this girl’s case as 1 do 
you w’ould speak more seriously about it. Do you understand, my 
woman, that not one of the sjsters in the church will speak to the 
girl. Such is the influence of Lady Dutton and the interesting but 
bitter young creature who is engaged to her son.” 

‘‘ I know it all, James, asw^ell as you do; and indeed I think Cap- 
tain Jansen has behaved shamefully to her. Old enough to be her 
father, and there he is. Instead of marrying her, he’s gone to sea 
again, like the sailor he is!” 

‘‘No, you don’t know it all,” said the minister, hotly, pouring 
out his own tea for himself in an affronting manner, as it there were 
no wife behind the cozy; ” j^ou don’t know it all. You are one of 
the sisterhood in your heart, and you are hard and uncharitable te 
her. And you are weakly offended because she will not go to Ike 


BOULDERSTOS'E. 


136 

Lotbians upon your invitation. Why should she go to the Lothians, 
forsooth? She is right to stay and to crush the scandal-mongers.” 

“ James, James; there’s Mr. Frazer coming up the walk.” 

” 1 loathe that man,” said the minister, hastily looking down his 
garden, up which the capitalist was advancing. 

” 1 beseech of you, James, to keep your temper, and to remem- 
ber your wite and family. They say there’s nothing that man can 
not do if he sets his mind upon it.” 

” Pshaw!” said the irritated husband, stalking out of his parlor 
to take refuge among his books. During disagreeable interviews 
lie always retired thither. It was there he met the deputation con- 
sisting of the wood merchant, the draper’s foreman, the cobbler, 
and two old maids, who recently informed him that there was an 
absence of ” Gospel truth ” in his discourses. Aniong his books he 
always found his ideas readily. He found language to couch them 
in, without any of the painful hesitation of the pulpit. The tat- 
tered backs and familiar reds and blues and duns of the shelves re- 
stored at a glance any weakness in his argument or sinking in his 
courage. Behind the tattered covers there were voices, and behind 
the voices individualities, and Mr. Petersen mentally appealed to 
them on all such occasions. 

The appearance of Mr. Frazer disturbed him, tor he had lost his 
temper at the last meeting of the committee, when the members posi- 
tively declined to recall the dismissal of Miss St. Clair. And he 
knew no reason why he should be called upon, now that the busi- 
ness was finished co'ntrary to the way he wished it. He was stalk- 
ing uneasily up and down his own room when his wite reappeared. 

, ‘‘ James, dear, you must meet him in the drawing-room. He’s 

perfectly kind and nice. He has taken a great interest in the boys, 
and there’s no saying what he might not do for them.” 

Mr. Petersen looked down upon his small wife, and his dark eyes 
were positively fierce. But she was ot the smallness which never 
quails before size, and she understood her husband’s fuiies to be 
only another sort of affection . 

” You know, James, there is so strong a smell of smoke, and I’m 
sure from his appearance that Mr. Frazer won’t like it, he is so neat 
and dainty.” 

And Mrs. Petersen opened the window. 

” Who is this man that 1 should dance attendance upon him? 
Show him up here or let him depart. Smoke, indeed! That his 
nostrils should be considered! 1 will not meet him in the draw- 
ing-room.” 

Mr. Petersen would not only not meet him out ot his own peculiar 
stronghold, but the interdict upon smoking raised so strong a desire 
in him for tobacco that he forthwith filled a pipe and vehemently 
puffed it as he strode from door to fire-place. 

He was thus engaged when Mr. Frazer entered. 

” Study, study, study,” said the capitalist, affably, having shaken 
hands with the minister. 

“You don’t spare yourself, Mr. Petersen. Have you read all 
these now?” sweeping the litter of volumes with a patronizing mo- 
tion ot his right arm. 

“ !No, not by any means all, if you would comprehend in that 


BOULDEKSTOKE. 


137 

chapter by chapter, and viord by word. Some of them are for 
complete perusal, many of them are tor reference. 1 have dipped 
into them all, and seen the drift and tendency where it was need- 
ful.” 

” 1 could lend you an office-boy to arrange them,” said Mr. 
Frazer, whose orderly habits were outraged by the spectacle. 

” Thank you,” replied the minister, in a dignified voice. ** To- 
your eye there is confusion no doubt, but the chaos is only on the 
surface. 1 trust there is cosmos reigning over the distribution of 
them.” 

Mr. Frazer sneezed. 

“Your tobacco must be very nauseous, minister,” he observed 
with candor. But he drew from his pocket a cigar-case, and to 
protect himself began smoking vigorousl 3 ^ 

The minister of the Gospel had hoped that the tobacco would be 
disagreeable; he was a little disappointed at the decided symptoms 
of camaradei'ie. 

‘‘ 1 haven’t long to wait, but I would like you to promise me a;: 
favor. 1 want you to take the chair at a meeting in the Town 
Hall.” 

” In what connection?” 

” I’m bringing a lecturer from the South who understands the 
colonies, and he is to tell the folks hereabouts what he knows. You 
have heard, perhaps, that a number of farmers and laborers will 
have to quit the parish whether or no, and they may as well hear 
where they can better themselves. In taking the chair I would like 
you to work up the subject a little— you know best how. The 
lecturer is a practical man; he’ll give them details about the pas- 
sage out, the price of labor, and the rates for colonial land. You 
mfght give them something poetical — gild the lily, and that sort of 
thing. That goes down wonderfully. And you could throw in a 
peroration about prosperity and self-help. They tell me your funds 
are low in your foreign missions. That looks bad in the ‘ Church 
Magazine.’ Put me down for £20.” 

Mr. Petersen laid his pipe on the mantel-piece and glared at his 
visitor. 

‘‘ The colonial propagandism is part of your scheme for the de- 
population of Boulderstone and the neighborhood. The people are 
to be told of a land overflowing with milk and honey, not because 
the land actually exists, but because it is convenient for you that 
they should believe it to exist. Sir, 1 object to your policy in Boul- 
derstone, and 1 will not gild the lily even at the upset price of £20 
for foreign missions and the saving thereby of my own credit in 
the ‘ Church Magazine.’ ” 

Mr. Frazer darted a quick, serpentine look at the minister. He 
had judged him to be a secular, sensible fellow, who would be 
likely to fall in with any schemes propounded from the castle. Hi& 
own\lealiugs with the clergy had chiefly been as patron. This 
man’s opposition was irritating. 

”1 see no necessity for a minister of the Gospel entertainiqg 
opinions on these subjects at all,” he added, in a brusque, high 
voice, lowering his cigar and wearing his most ungenial expression. 

‘‘ Why, neither do 1. But it you seek to press certain opinions 


138 


BOULDERSTONE, 


upon me which I do not hold, save in contempt, then you must ex- 
pect to be informed how 1 regard them. 1 look upon your policy, 
sir, as pernicious. This neighborhood has been a highly prosperous 
one; its inhabitants are perfectly content with their lot; a little 
judicious management by the investment of capital in boats and 
appliances is all that is required to make it a model community. 
But you come and relonn it off the face of the earth after the de- 
structive and innovating fashion of the Radicals. I repeat, sir, 
that 1 will have nothing to do with your emigration policy. I will 
sit in no chair to give countenance to your schemes. Already you 
have driven to the quarries some scores of families who have been 
barely provided with a covering tor their heads. You have pulled 
down the houses of fishermen who can not replace them.” 

” ‘ Bools and bairns should never see things half done,’ Mr. 
Petersen,” interrupted Mr. Frazer; ” will you listen to reason?” 

” To reason 1 hope 1 am always willing to listen.” 

‘‘ Indeed, they say there’s more reason than faith in your ser- 
mons, and that your neighbors of the Presbytery are alive to the 
tact.” 

” When my professional brethren bring that subject before the 
Presbytery, sir, it will be time enough for me to consider it. In 
the meantime it is an irrelevance. You have done more, sir, thail 
disorganized the community; those wbo have opposed you, you 
have" attempted to ruin. To whom shall 1 attribute the persecu- 
tion of that young girl. Miss St. Clair, but to you?” 

“Dods! this is intolerable,” said the little man, while the tall 
figure loomed above him through the blue mist. 

‘‘ 1 have a pastoral capacity, sir, and duties to discharge in that 
respect,” pursued the minister, sawing the air with his right hand. 

I don’t recognize it. You’re a known infidel and heretic, and 
you’ll find that to your cost.” 

” And it is part of my duty to tell you that, in the name of peace 
and industry, you are bringing ruin upon numerous families.” 

Mr. Frazer groped for the door. 

“ In the name of peace and industry, you— -one of the aristocracy 
of the mill and the counting-house — are ousting the people from 
their cherished homes.” 

” Fiddlesticks! minister,” said the new aristocrat, reaching the 
door and turning to survey his eloquent opponent. 

” The new aristocracy; and I have known something of you in 
the west ends of your cities, where you build your mansions, and ac- 
oumulate your silks and your velvets, your silver and your gold. 
Jugglers of the markets. And you send your children to the coun- 
ties to occupy the land, and you have no traditions of honor or dig- 
nity, aspiration or character, to send with them. They know not 
the land and its necessities. They care not for the people. They 
make a solitude and call it plenty. But God and right will triumph 
over you, sir,” continued Mr. Petersen, his spectacles advancing to 
the tip of his nose, and his head in consequence raised in the air. 

‘‘Blasphemy, minister, blasphemy,” said the capitalist, who 
•could with difficulty keep his tongue from one of the oaths of his 
early, unconverted days. 

‘‘ No, sir, God will not permit the land to pass from the hands 


BOULDERSTOi^E. 


139 ^ 


of those who have tilled it for generations that you may make a 
better market. He will not permit His little ones ” — Mr. h razer 
had cot out on to the landing and was looking for his hat— “ to bo 
turned from their homes into the pitiless blast and naked cast upon 
the bleak hill-sido ’’—Mr. Frazer was half down stairs, but the 
minister, his voice echoing through the hall, w'as following him 
with great strides — “ in order that your conveyances may be heaped 
with stone, and that you may batten in the midst of your luxuries. 
Rather will God put it into the heait of the people to rise against 
you and repudiate — ” 

iMr. Frazer had reached the door. He let himself out, and rapidly 
slipped down the steps; and the minister paused. 

Great beads of perspiration were on his brow. As he turned, his- 
wife looked at him ruefully from the dining-room door. Hhe had 
never heard him so vehement in her life before. 

But the thought occurred to her that James would yet be pos- 
sessed of “ a city charge,” and it consoled her a little. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

ELECTION NEWS. 

Mr. Frazer was an early riser. Partly it was the effect of a 
habit contracted when he was a poor man, and partly it was due to- 
a custom he religiously observed. The custom was to read a chap- 
ter of the Old Testament, and nothing ever made him neglect it. 
He did not pick and choose in the literature of the Hebrews, and 
attempt to find solace or strength in exceptional passages. He read 
straight forward— a genealogy was as good to him as a psalm, a 
stoiy of vengeance was as consoling as a beatitude. He was most 
conscientious. A long chapter might happen to come up on a morn- 
ing, when he was short of time, but he would rather break an en- 
gagement or risk losing a train than shirk his reading. He had once 
omitted the exercise earl}’^ in his business career, and the day had 
cost him £1500. He never forgot the circumstance. His habit 
soon told at the castle, for it had enabled him to pounce upon the 
assistant gardeners, to stir up the languid steward, and to fling a 
word in season to the sleepy grooms. Each morning he came in 
from his circuit of the parks and gardens before any other body 
had reached the breakfast-room. It gave him a sense of superiority 
which was the breath of his life. 

The morning after the events described in the last chapter he was- 
strolling among the cropped grass of the park enjoying the fresh- 
ness of the breeze though he was not conscious of it, and calculat- 
ing how long the Boulderstone ” job ” would take him to complete, 
when a man on horseback attracted his attention. He had gal- 
loped through the open gate of the lodge in what was inexcusable 
haste, it there were not some message of importance to deliver. 

Mr. Frazer strolled down toward him with a few fine incisive 
phrases on his tongue, which he promised himself the pleasure of 
bestowing on the rider if there were no excuse for his hurry. 

The man handed him a packet which checked the speech. H 


BOULDERSTONE. 


140 

•was a set ot delayed telegrams and a bundle of newspapers. He 
soon mastered the contents. Wesilands bad no longer a Parlia- 
menlary representative. The borough which his agents had been 
warming was now vacant, and Sir Keil Dutton's chance had come. 

Mr. Frazer returned in great excitement to the castle. He had 
been in a state of suppressed irritation at the young man for several 
days; his ingratitude, and his silence, and his airs had been most 
aggravating. But the sight ot his name in print seemed to put a 
new value on him, Mr. Frazer read in a friendly paper, as he 
went along, that SirlNeil Dutton, about to be connected by marriage 
with one of the most influential Scotch houses, was a man ot great 
promise. He had the taiilt ot youth, perhaps, but every day would 
improve him in that respect. He had not had the opportunity ot 
making any public appearances, but his paper read betore the 
Social Science Association had been marked by original thought, 
and had been remarked by all who heard it. He was the scion of 
a Tory house, it was true, but in these advanced days it was per- 
mitted to a young man thinking for himself to break with the tra- 
ditions which bound him to a party. Taking him aU in all, the 
liberal interests of Westlands would be likely to be well served by 
one who had traveled far, seen many men, and who, so far as his 
youth would allow him, had sound and mature opinions on the 
leading questions of the day. 

An unfriendly journal had another version. 

It called him the bankrupt heir ot a great Conservative house, 
who accepted the aid of a wire-pulling Radical to start him in life. 
It said he was one ot the young Scotch aristocracy — unfortunately, 
not uncommon— who had an unaccountable leaning to social doc- 
trines; that he had been on the Continent, and tampered with com- 
munism; that he had been in America, and had lost the decorous 
sense of class distinction; and that it Westlands desired to main- 
tain the Constitution and the Law, it would send this whipper- 
snapper to Jericho, •where he might tarry until his "beard grew. 

“ Get your master into his things at once,” said Mr. Frazer to Sir 
Neil’s man, who •v\as lingering about the hall; “give him these 
telegrams.” 

And in his enthusiasm he rubbed his hands, walked from the 
breaktast-ioom to the dining-room, from the dining room to the 
study, and out into the open air. He took the vacancy in West- 
lands as an omen that the beginning of the success of all his schemes 
had come. 

Sir Neil was not long in appearing. 

He had not slept the -whole night through, and he presented a 
haggard and care-worn face to the other, who stood with his back 
to the fire in the breakfast room. 

Instead of leaving Bertha, wearied as she was, to find her -way to 
her cottage. Sir Neil had put her into a boat, and, the tide being 
high, he had rowed her up through the tO'v^m bridge, and set her 
down on the bank not far from her garden. 

It was now broad daylight as he came down the stream, and he 
was aware that, rowing as he in the diess he had assumed for 
dinner the evening betore, he had appeared rather an interesting ob- 
ject to the watchman who had strolled to the bridge, and, further 


BOULDERSTONE. 141 

■down, to the old man who was unaccountably looking out of a win- 
dow ot one of the villas, in his nightcap, to see the sun rise. 

Mr. Frazer could not but notice the look of the young man, 

“ A.ie you ill?” was his first greeting, in a tone of voice which 
had as much irritability as kindness in it. 

“Thank you, no; I’m all right. This is sudden news about 
Westlands.” 

And Mr. Frazer thought no more of his looks. 

“ You will have to post over in time to catch the afternoon train. 
You see they expect you to make a statement to-morrow night. 
The agent has managed very cleverly. All the halls are taken for 
you already, and the newspapers are on the scent. It’s very smart 
work. You will be returned, I’ve no manner of doubt.” 

Sir l^eil had taken his resolution before he appeared. He meant 
to make his visit to Westlands the opportunity forexacting a promise 
from Mr. Frazer about Bertha St, Glair. 

“ Before 1 go lo Westlands, Mr. Frazer, you must promise me 
two things. Miss St. Clair must be restored to her school, and the 
threat of selling her furniture, on the plea that her garden has been 
a failure for three seasons, must be abandoned.” 

Mr. Frazer glanced at the wmrn, jaded-looking baronet, and on 
his own shining morning; face there gathered,' a frown of high dis- 
pleasure. But he mastered hia temper, and simplj’’ said: 

” You would be better to give your whole mind to the election, 
Sir Neil Dutton. Leave Boulderstone and its affairs lo me.” 

At that moment Caroline stepped into the room. She advanced 
to her father and kissed him lightly, and turned to her future hus- 
band with a sparkle in her eyes. 

Sir Neil shivered imperceptibly, but still he shivered. 

“ Dear me,” said Caroline, ” you looK as if you had been up all 
night.” 

“Do 1?” replied Sir Neil, neither advancing to greet her nor 
allowing himself to meet the glance of her e3'es. 

“ Have you heard the news?” he added, handing her a newspaper, 
which, as luck would have it, was the one containing the unfriendly 
comments. 

“Dear me!” and Caroline feigned an interest she did not feel; 
“ and Westlands is vacant. You’ve got your character here: ‘ Send 
back this whipper-snapper to Jericho, where he might tarry until 
his beard grew.’ ” 

Caroline sat down at table, and wished the men to follow her ex- 
ample. But Sir Neil still remained standing. He said, quietly: 

“ Mr. Frazer, we must come to some definite understanding about 
Miss St. Clair.” 

“ 1 know nothing about her, and consequently there can be no 
understanding so far as she is concerned.” 

“ At least you can promise me what I ask.” 

“Is it that girl who has the school?” Caroline interposed. 
“ Whatever can you want wuth her, Neil? Don’t you know that 
there’s nobody in Boulderstone would speak to her? She’s an out- 
cast.” 

The baronet started. How near was that description to Bertha’s 
own! 


142 


BOULDERSTONE. 


“ It is because I know it that 1 insist upon her being reinstated. ” 

Mr. Frazer muttered something to himself about an impracticable 
ass, and taking his seat at table held out his hand for his cup. Any 
one coming into the room at the moment and seeing the w'dl-con- 
- ditioned little gentleman and his plump, comely daughter at the 
table, with the tall, anxious, stooping figure on the hearth-rug, must 
have concluded that it was the lord of the manor who was at the 
table giving audience to a poor relative. 

“ 1 shall let Westlands take its chance, then, for a couple of days, , 
until I shall have arranged for Miss St. Clair being re-appointed. 
She has been scandalously treated.” 

Mr. Frazer grew pale with anger; his fork shook on his salmon 
steak, but he repressed himself. He pretended not to hear; and the 
wearied youth sat down opposite him, his resolution firmly taken. 

” You’re quite horrid,” said Caroline, addressing both the men, 
after a pause. ” I’m sure if there’s anything to do that will help- 
either of you to look like yourselves 1 will do it.” 

A bright idea struck the baronet. Would Caroline call on Miss 
St. Clair? Certainly. Would she take a letter to her? To be sure. 

” My dear Carry,” he said, with a cordiality which reminded her 
of their yachting days the year before, ‘‘ if you do so you will help 
me more than 1 can tell you.” 

Mr. Frazer snorted, but in spite of himself looked a little less 
ungenial. Caroline and the baronet, he felt, might propose, but he 
certainly would dispose. 

” Do as you please about it,” he said, returning to the question 
of the election with great loquacity; and so a compromise was 
struck. 

Before he rode off that forenoon. Sir Neil had given a letter into 
Caroline’s hand which she was to deliver to Bertha. It would be 
the beginning of the public recognition of Bertha; it would help 
him to keep his own promise to Caroline, which he had now a grow- 
ing desire to break. 

But the history of the letter was brief. Sir Neil had hardly rid- 
den out of sight when Mr. Brock reined up at the hall door. The 
- letter became one of a batch to be delivered in Boulderstone that 
day, but it never reached its destination. 

The same evening the auctioneer and the fiscal’s clerk went over to 
Bertha’s cottage and ticketed the furniture. They were followed 
^ by a sheriff’s officer, who locked the door and put the key in his 
pocket. 

In the dark Bertha sat looking on to the river, and, tearless, she 
realized that she had not where to lay her head. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

LICENSE. 

Caroline felt Sir Neil’s absence to be a great relief. He had 
been neglecting her. and she resented the neglect. He had long 
been silent in her presence, and had dropped all flattery. His ca- 
resses had ceased. When he bade her good-night he no longer kissed 


BOULDERSTONE. 143 

her. There was a constraint in all his kindness, and he never sought 
to see her by herself. 

On the other hand, Mr. Hew Brock was as assiduous in his at- 
tentions as he could be. Caroline was never in the town but she 
was sure to encounter him, booted and spurred like the cavalier he 
was to her, and his tight shooting costume binding him up iuacask- 
like roundness which commended itself to her eyes. There was a 
warrior tire in his blazing cheeks and short-cropped red hair which 
gave Caroline little thrills and ripples of delight as she looked up at 
the leering e 3 "eballs which ogled her from their prominent sockets. 

“ Aue wad suppose it was Brock o’ the Keep that was to marry 
the millioner’s dochter,” said the barber to the watch-maker, as the 
pair walked into the square one day while the contest in Westlandg 
was still in progress, and the baronet was out of the town. 

“ Fegs you wad think it. But I w^adua be in that Brock’s shoes 
for the keep an’ a’ that’s in it. He’s gotten Magnus o’ Sandstone 
— the big pilot chteld— into the jile, an’ they tell me the Sandstone 
lads ’ll do tor him. It’s a peetiful thing that men like the Sand- 
stone folk should be turned frae hoose an’ hearth tae feed that 
muckle lump’s sheep an nowts. They tell me he’s no fairmer at 
a’. He’s just doin’t oot o’ spite for what Magnus gie’d him last 
winter. But Frazer and him is hand and glove in the improve- 
ments. An’ Frazer’s gotten roond the Cooncil. My eertie, when 
the November elections come roond they’ll hear about the improve- 
ments, an’ twa three other things beside.” 

Caroline and her admirer passed up the steps of the Town Hall. 
Sir Neil Dutton, senior, in the dignity of monumental marble, sat 
at the door. 

” He has his eye on you — you had better take care,” said Caro- 
line, with a light laugh. 

Mr. Brock replied by switching the statue on the shoulders as 
they passed upstairs. 

There was an old man in the anteroom which separated the 
museum from the hall. He had been pensioned by the late baronet, 
and it was his duty to see that the building was cared for in all its 
parts. 

” i say, old boy,” said Mr. Brock, ” here’s a sixpence and a three- 
. penny-bit. Go along to Swanson’s inn, and wait till my man comes 
' in from the Keep. He’ll be in in a few minutes. Bring the letter 
1 he will give you. Ask him for it.” 

‘‘ 1 will that, sir,” answered the old man, joyfully pocketing the 
money and making for the door. 

‘‘Oh, you clever man,” said Caroline, as they stood alone in the 
museum. 

It was a small room, with a high roof and cool, whitewashed 
walls. There were Ordnance Survey maps in it; fiomv arious emi- 
nences stuffed birds of local repute stared in front of them; in side 
cases fragments of all fhe sandstones and crystals and schists re- 
posed; a stuffed baboon on a tree, with the remains of a highly in- 
telligent face, presided in a corner. 

“ Two’s company, three’s nonel” exclaimed Mr. Brock, senten- 
tiously. 

” This place makes me melancholy,” observed Caroline, stooping 


144 BOULDEKSTOKE. 

over a case, and pretending to be unconscious ol the arm ■which 
passed round her waist. 

“ Do tiiey get gold here?” she continued, looking into a slab ot 
slate in which there were polygons and hectagons of metal shining. 

Her voice was lower, and she trembled a little; her companioH 
had stooped and kissed her neck. 

At that moment a boy made his appearance at the door— a vulgar 
fisher-lad without coat or jacket. Mr. Brock opened his jaws and 
swore at him. 

” I’m to keep the Toon Ha’ till the man comes back. He said 1 
was to do it.” 

Brock strode to the door, and the boy dodged him, retiring back- 
ward into the large hall. Caroline still leaned over the case, and 
with beating heart heard her admirer’s vain thundering on the other 
side of the closed door. Then there was a scutfle and the sound of 
a whip, and Heatherhead was bundled down-stairs. 

‘‘ They’re the damnedest, unruliest lot 1 ever came across,” said 
j\lr. Brock, returning and closing the door behind him. His exer- 
tions had broken the back of his passion, and Caroline now led the 
way into the other room, the hall where there was to be the great 
lecture on emigration, and a service of buns at the door. 

” Will you speak the night of the lecture?” asked Caroline, cross- 
ing the spacious floor toward the platform, where she had under- 
taken to superintend the erection of evergreens and arrangement of 
geraniums. 

” Me speak!” said the land-owner, with a noisy laugh. “ Give 
me the light fantastic toe, the mazy dance,” and he gyrated round 
the hall to impress Caroline with an idea of his lightness and grace. 

” 1 would like you for a partner. Hew,” said Caroline, admiring 
him for his rotundity, his amiability, and his vigor; for had he not 
just laid his whip to the back of a vulgar little boy? 

“ Thank ye for that: it’s the first time you’ve called me Hew j 
may it not be the last!” 

Caroline, as he was again in neighborly proximity, exclaimed: 

** Oh dear, I’ve made an awful mistake with that baronet. I’m 
weary, weary of him.” Thus encouraged, she was led to a chair , 
in a recess in the window, and Brock sat with his arm round her, | 
telling her that she should break her engagement. 

” Govydick! I’ll tell. 1 see ye, 1 see ye,” shouted a voice from 
a door opposite, and the bronze head of Heatherhead inserled itself. 

Brock flung his whip, and its heavy handle indented the door. 
The boy picked it up and fled. It was an expensive whip, and 
Brock was solicitous about his goods; he therefore pursued the boy. 
But there seemed to be a labyrinth of doors, all of which had to be 
opened before he could reach the youth. 

While he was still fumbling at them and muttering curses, Heath- 
erhead let himself in by the door leading to the platform, and 
seated himself in a chair not far from Caroline. 

Go away, you nasty little brute,” said she, gathering her dress 
together, and making a movement of disgust as Heatherhead on his 
chair leaned his cheek on his hand, and turned up the whites of his 
«ye8 sentimentally, and tapped his toes with the whip. 


BOULDEKSTONE. 145i 

“ Hew, Hew!” she screamed, as the laird still fumbled at the 
handle of a door outside, ” he’s here.” 

” Min’ ye, I’ll tell on ye. That’s no’ your lad. lie has nae bizniz 
tae be kisseu’ ye. 1 saw him.” 

” Oh, you abominable liar!” 

Brock had gone round, and was returning by the entrance from 
the museum. 

Heatherhead still sat making sentimental faces at Caroline. 

” 1 shall faint if you don’t take this wretch from the room. 

Brock charged down the hall ; Heatherhead deftly pushed the chair 
between his feet, and bounded up the platform. 

” He’s a perfect devil,” said the girl; ‘‘he’s making me quito 
nervous.” 

” I’ll ca’ at the castle wi’ the whup, ” said Heatherhead, leaning^ 
over the platform, and looking down at the laird, who had 
“ shinned ” himself and 'who was puffing hard after his exertions. 

Apparently there was to be no more peace for them. They went 
out into the square and Brock told a policeman that a boy had stolea 
his whip and might be caught in the Town Hall. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 
heatherhead’s discovery. 

Boy Heatherhead w^as the only one who attended ” the roup 
at Juniper Bank. He was not made very welcome, for, on showing 
himself at the gate on the morning of the event, the sheriff’s officer, 
who was standing at a table from which the auctioneer was to direct 
the public competition for Bertha’s goods, scowled upon him fierce- 
ly. Heatherhead was used to that expression of visage, and as he 
leaned upon the gate he regarded the sheriff's officer’s contortions 
with perfect calmness. As that functionary made as it he would 
come toward the gate, Heatherhead presented his tongue at him; and 
on his actually approaching he turned and saluted in the entirely 
vulgar fashion in which the savages saluted Robinson Crusoe on his 
second visit to his island. As he expected, the arm of law then lifted 
a stone and flun^ it at him, after which he turned back to the house, 
the boy also going back and again leaning his chin on the gate. 

Heatherhead was the only one of Bertha’s older pupils who was 
not at sea. For ten days he had not seen his mistress, though he had 
been to school in the lane each day ; and he had heard several dis- 
comforting things about her: one was that she had not been treated 
well by Captain Jansen. 

In the captain’s absence from home, Heatherhead felt that there 
was nothing he could do to help his mistress’s cause. But in the 
meantime he made Jean Scott as miserable as it was in his power 
to make her. For one thing, he got the root of a cabbage— other- 
wise “ a runt ’’—and filling it wMth hemp and lighting it, blew 
through the key-hole of the captain’s door. Jean’s nostrils were 
shortly regaled by the unmistakable smell of fire, Heatherhead was- 
rewarded by hearing her addressing various terms of exclamation 
and alarm to Oscar, who barked furiously from within. By the 


146 


BOULDERSTONE. 


time Jean had opened the front door Heatherhead had transported 
himself to the back door, where he blew his smoking oakum with 
all the vigor of his lungs. But it was only a trifling consolation to 
him at best, and had very nearly been a disaster, for, Oscar having 
discovered him before Jean, he was once greatly in peril of being 
torn to pieces. At the school-house in the lane he was rather more 
successful. Having gone on the roof and placed a state across the 
chimney, the ventilation of the school ceased, and in very anguish 
of despair Bertha’s successor had to proclaim a holiday. He was 
a ware that the dominie at the parish school was no admirer of Bertha, 
and it consoled him a little to waylay the boy who was sent to the 
saddler’s for cane- wood, and to split the ends of each cane, inserting 
^ hair of his own bronze head as a sovereign medium for splitting 
the instrument further where it was used on the human palm. He 
also knocked from time to time at the school door, and succeeded 
thrice in bringing the dominie to the open air, under the wrong im- 
pression that somebody wanted to see him. Nobody would tell 
Heatherhead anything about Bertha. Was she gone for good and 
all? He could not discover. He had followed Minister Betersen 
half over the town, intending to ask him where his mistress was, and 
when she would be back again, and why that ither ane was in the 
school-house. But when he came upon the minister, near his own 
gate, he was talking to himself in a way fearful to behold, and grasp- 
ing his stick with such violence that Heatherhead did not dare to 
address him at first; but when the minister had got through his 
gate, he ventured to ask, “ Please, sir, whaur’s the school-mis- 
tress?” but the only answer he received was a frown and a shake of 
the stick, and an assurance from the minister that he W’as ‘‘ a 
ruffian.” 

At last Heatherhead, having earned a half-penny, boldly went up 
to the counter of the fruiterer’s in the square, and said, ” A ha’- 
penny worth o’ raisins. Whaur’s Miss St. Clair?” 

The fruiterer weighed out the raisins with much deliberation, 
silently put the half-penny in his till, and, looking fixedly at Heath- 
erhead, observed, 

” Nane o’ yer impidence here.” 

But Heatherhead, not to be discouraged, said, ” Ye ken whaur 
she is; ye maun tell me.” 

” Gae awa wi’ ye, ye deevil's bairn that ye are. It’s only the like 
o’ ye that cares to ask aboot her.” 

And the fruiterer — who had indeed been the instrument used in 
pressing on the ” roup, ’ ' and who had suftered a good deal of unpopu- 
larity on account of it among neighbors who did not propose to 
profit by it — frowned upon the boy. 

” Gie me back my ha’-penny,” said Heatherhead. ‘‘ There’s twa 
o’ thae raisins rotten.” 

” If ye dinna get out o’ my shop I’ll bring the pleece tae ye.” 

” Gie me back my ha’-penny, then.” 

The fruiterer stepped abruptly among his baskets, and brought a 
pyramid of apples to the floor; Heatherhead picked up two of the 
rosiest and largest. 

” Here’s yer raisins tae ye. I’ll keep thae.” 

But the apples were worth twopence. 


BOULDEllSTONE. 


147 


“ Haud ye, ye blackguard; here’s jT^oiir ha’-penuy.” 

“ Ohangie ye lor chaugie ye, then. Pit the ha’-penny doon there, 
and I’ll pit the apples doon here,” pointing to two neutral regions 
on the counter. 

The Iruiterer deposited the coin; the boy laid down the apples. 
It was not a remunerative transaction, but it consoled Heatherhead 
a little. 

The boy had another source of consolation open to him. Though 
his parents were too poor to give him a jacket to his back, he was 
able to keep a gun. Tt was an old-fashioned fowling piece, but it 
was in good enough condition to load and tire and kill. 

Heatherhead kept his people in game, and though it was well 
known to the game-keepers round about I he country that he indis- 
criminately shot whatever he had a mind to, in defiance of close 
times, they never could get a conviction against him. For one thing, 
Heatherhead was always too astute for them. A.nd being openly 
chased, he was much too fleet of toot to be caught. 

He had his gun hid behind a hedge the day of Bertha’s ” roiip,”^ 
and the thought was shaping itself in his mind that he would like 
to discharge it from the brae, over the roof of the house, at the auc- 
tioneer who was to sell the things. Bui he waited for some time, 
and seeing no purchasers come up the hill, he drew the missile from 
its hiding-place, went over the river, and by devious routes known 
to himself made across a great track of moorland. 

The whole afternoon he lay in the dimple of a knoll overlooking 
a pool, where halt a dozen wild-ducks were feeding. It was a pool 
in the heart of a wide expanse of heather; at the further side of it 
from where the boy lay there was a clump of wind-driven fir-trees. 
As he lay, the w^arm sun beat down upon him, and as he waited 
until caprice or the search for food brought the ducks down to him, 
he became like an inanimate portion of the scene. He had not been 
half an hour in his crouching attitude before a spider took for 
granted that he was a fixture, and spun a rope of silk between his 
head and a bough of heather; a variety of shining beetles crept 
curiously in the cieases of his woolen shirt; a brown spotted but- 
terfly hovered about him with the intention of alighting; and bees, 
their thighs thick with plunder, hummed over him undisturbed. 
Two or three times he had covered the birds with his fowling-piece, 
but they always turned without coming within range, and swam 
back toward the clump of fir-trees. The boy’s vigilance never re- 
laxed. 

He meant to have some of them before night came. Once in the 
course of their feeding he knew the}’’ must make a circuit of the 
mere in his direction. Meanwhile there were compensations for him. 
He enjoyed the warm rays of the sun which beat about his head. 
Then between him and the blue vault there was such a caroling of 
larks that there was no lack of company. And when the ducks 
were decidedly out of range and resting, there were several little 
dramas close at hand to keep his attention engaged. The lizard on 
the stone at his right hand; the magpie carrying food to the nest in 
the fir-tree; the water-rats disporting themselves among the sedges 
—all required an eye to be given to them; not to speak of the fact 


148 


BOULDERSTONE. 


that Heatlierhead had to keep his ears alert for the chance of a 
game-keeper’s foot on the heath. 

A crisis, however, occurred after he had lain in the knoll for two 
hours. The ducks were unmistakably getting within range. 
Heathcrhead looked to his trigger, and with his cheek on the stock 
of the gun had a moment of intense and joyful expectation. They 
were under the leadership of a splendid drake, paddling straight 
within range. Another moment and he should have his patience 
rewarded. But no! They again turned, and wliat was that among 
the fir-trees? The figure of a woman. 

The fowling-piece dropped from the boy’s hand, and his heart 
heat more rapidly within him. A woman, yes! His dear mistress 
among the fir-trees, and now she is approaching the sedges, and the 
birds he has been watching all the afternoon swim toward her. 
They actually swim to her as if they had been bred in a farm-yard 
and were only out for a day’s exercise. 

Heatherhead continued watching, and Miss St. Clair, nearing the 
edge, threw morsels of bread to them. They were shy, but not 
afraid of her. 

Having reassured himself that Miss St. Clair was before him, the 
boy turned on his back in the knoll and gave one loud shrill whoop 
of delight. The next moment he was bounding across the heather, 
and the wild-ducks were flying low over the water, while Bertha, 
surprised and dismayed, was shading her eyes from the sunlight 
and looking at him. Heatherhead went slowly toward her at the 
fir-trees. A smile was on his tanned face, which deepened into a 
grin as Bertha smiled and held out her hand. 

“ George, 1 am so glad to see you,” she said, sweetly. Bertha 
was one of the few who had discovered that he had a Christian 
name. 

Heatherhead blushed and muttered something inaudible. But he 
could not keep his eyes ofi her. The last time he had seen her she 
•was pale and anxious and care-worn. Here she was now, the pallor 
cbangeil to the gentlest flush of the rose. Nay, she was almost 
sunburnt, and the light in her large eyes was such as the boy had 
never remembered seeing before. There was even a deeper aureole 
of gold lound her shining hair; and she walked from the sedges 
through the fir-trees, with a step so elastic, so strong, that Heather- 
head could do nothing but keep on grinning. 

” 1 was feared, mem, something had happened tae ye, or ye was 
aff for guid an’ a’.” 

“ And so 1 was, George, but 1 have changed my mind. 1 am 
coming back to Boulderstone again. And as soon as Captain Jan- 
sen returns 1 will come to town and open my school again in a new 
room. They^have sold my things, 1 suppose?” 

‘‘There’s naebody wad buy them, mem; there’s naebody wad 
daur pit a hand on them.” 

” It is not so bad as 1 thought, then,” said Bertha, partly to her- 
self and partly to the boy. 

‘‘ 1 have been living with Baikie’s mother, George. If you coi.ae 
over the moor vyith me you can have some bannocks and milk atid 
-eggs You would like that, wouldn’t you?” 

‘‘ 1 don’t care, mem,’* answered Heatherhead, who was feasting 


BOULDERSTONE. 


149 

his eyes upon Bertha, and who, though he had eaten nothing but a 
handlul of “ sooracks ” since early morning, did not at the moment 
leel the pangs of hunger. But they set off locrether from the water’s 
edge, fleatherhead seeing the ducks settle down within a few yards 
of his fowling-piece as he followed his mistress to the turf -covered 
hut on the further side of the moor. Ileatherhead’s gun was not in 
favor with Bertha, so he did not mention it, trusting that he would 
find it on his return. 

“ Ifou need say nothing of my being here to any one, George. 1 
shall come back in good time: the quiet of this moor and Mrs. 
Baikie’s kindness have made me quite strong again. Perhaps you 
"would take a letter to Mr. Petersen for me, and — Is Sir Neil 
Dutton at the castle?” 

” 1 could fin’ oot, mem, and come back an’ tell ye.” 

“But that is a great deal of trouble. It is seven whole miles 
from Boulderstone.” 

” Whut’s seeven miles tae me? I’ll come back an’ tell ye the 
morn.” 

They were now on the edge of the moor, and the yellow thatch of 
the little sheeling where Bertha had taken refuge in her first sense 
of desertion and misery wms before them. 

“Come your ways ben,” Siiid Mis. Baikie, a masculine old 
woman with a red handkerchief round her head, and bushy black 
eyebrows and eyes and a mustache of the same hue. “ Ilev I eggs? 
To be sure 1 hev eggs, mem, an’ bannocks, an’ milR tae. Sit doon, 
ye limb o’ the deil. I’ve seen 5"e here afore. ” 

And fleatherhead took his seat on a wooden stool, while Mrs. 
Baikie removed a large pot from a hook and chain which was 
swinging over the turf fire. 

He made friends with a sheep-dog who had followed them, in 
from the door, while Bertha went into an inner room and wrote her 
letter. 


CHAPTER XXXVll. 

AT SANDSTONE HEAD. 

]\Ir. Hew Brock sometimes spent an afternoon at the inn which 
fronted Sandstone harbor. He could always count upon some ap- 
preciative company in Mrs. Smith’s bar parlor, or in the little room 
upstairs with the long square table and the row of w’ooden spit- 
toons on the fl.oor. 

” Customs ” Mackenzie, a government official, who had a boat, 
and who levied contributions of cakes of cavendish and glasses of 
Schiedam from storm-stayed ships in the bay, under the impression 
that he was keeping off smugglers, w-as alw'ays to be commanded. 

The harbor-master, in his furtive way, would look in when in- 
vited and hastily gulp a glass. The medical student in his fourth 
year at college, who assisted Dr. Dick at Boulderstone, affected the 
inn a good deal. 

The light-house-keeper from Sandstone Head was oftener there 
than he should have been: and in the event of none of them being 
present, Mr. Brock , found Mrs. Smith a person of latitudinarian 


150 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


views, who could go great lengths in talk when the drinking was 
steady. 

On the evening ot the expected arrival of the “Petrel” from 
“ the Sooth ” there was generally a pretty full house. In the un- 
carpeted parlors the Boulderstone carters who waited the arrival ot 
the steamer drank quarts- of beer. The little group ot people who 
expected an uncle or a father, a son from school, or a parcel from 
the stewardess, went out and in from the pier to the bar, working 
up their geniality with “ nips ” before the “ Petrel ” came in sight. 

On such a night Mr. Brock sat on one side of the fire in the bar- 
room, with Mr. Shearer of the light-house opposite him. There 
was some stir outside. Ihe “ Petrel was in command of Captain 
Jansen, and Sir Neil Dutton was one ot the passengers. 

Various interesting questions were connected therewith. 

Would Sir Neil Dutton come ashoie sea-green with sickness? 
Would he make a speech in connection with the election at West- 
lands? V^ould Captain Jansen lay the “ Petrel ” alongside in the 
same masterly manner as Captain Brotchie? And would he be 
likely to take a select circle of acquaintances into the saloon, and. 
ask the steward to uncork a bottle? 

Mr. Brock had come early in the afternoon to the inn, and Mr. 
Shearer had sat long in his company. They were both drinking to 
the satisfaction of Mrs. Smith. That is, they were not noisily 
ostentatious over their stoups. They always linished them with 
low expressions of surprise, as if some accident had overtaken the 
liquor and conveyed some of it away from their mouths when they 
were not looking. Shearer had made various efforts to rise and 
leave, but the bulky land-owner had always succeeded in pressing 
him into his chair. 

“ What the devil, man,” he would say, gazing at his companion 
with swollen eyes which looked out of a congested face, “ there’s- 
nothing to hurry you. It won’t be dark for a couple of hours. Ye 
needn’t waste good government oil. Damn ye. I’ll report ye if yon 
do!” 

Shearer was only relieved from that importunate hospitality when 
the red head of Mr. Hew Brock sunk into his ulster, and he began 
to snore vigorously. He then stole out ot the inn unobserved, and 
rather unsteadily made his way along the pathway which skirted 
the cliff's to Ihe light-house. Part of the way he ran, as he saw that 
darkness was coming down from the north, and a storm might be 
expected. 

There was only a lad at the light house, and he had never allowed 
him to do more than trim tlie lamps and clean the brasses. The 
comrade who relieved him was temporarily on duty at another head- 
land where a death had occurred. In the desperation of his haste 
Shearer narrowly escaped precipitating himself over the cliffs after 
he realized it might be dark before he arrived. He only arrested 
his steps when a red glow of light burst from the headland and 
settled upon the bay. 

The boy had lit the lamps and the credit of the light-house keeper 
was safe. 

He stopped his mad race, went leisurely forward, and wrought 
himself into a fit ot indignation at the impertinence ot the cleaner 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


151 


who had dared to light up before his arrival. In halt an hour from 
the time he had left the inn he had sent the boy to his bed under the 
<K)nviction that he had done something which deserved dismissal, 
but which, owing to his (Shearer’s) lenient disposition, would prob- 
ably not be reported against him. 

A few minutes later he sat in the lamp-room, beneath the glass 
dome, some hundreds of feet above the sea, and a storm was roar- 
ing without. To Shearer a storm w’as only one of the natural inci- 
dents of his profession. He heard the boom of the weaves beneath, 
liud then became conscious fr«>m time to lime that a paler, bluer, 
more intense light was fitfull}’^ flashing outside than his owm lamp 
shed on the sea; but it hardly disturbed him at all. 

As the seventh and strongest wave of each series burst against the 
crags, hurling cataracts of water along the side ol the light-house, 
and surrounding the dome 'with flashes of spray, shaking the 
machinery and the floor, and making the round w^alls vibrate, he 
sat at his task with quiet unconcern. It was a much more serious 
thing for him that the light had been a few minutes late, and that 
thirty miles of the public might have commented on it. But for 
that smart boy wdiom he had abused and sent to bed he might really 
have got into diiliculties. The storm, therefore, had at first rather 
a soothing effect upon him; he at least was safe at his post. Ships 
might be beating m from the horizon iiKill stages of distress to get 
to the shore side of the red light and safe anchorage. Shearer did 
not as much as think of them. Only, now that he was seated beside 
his apparatus, he began to reflect that Mr. Hew Brock might bear 
him a grudge for the w’ay in which he had left him at the inn; and 
as Mr. Brock was a county authority it might mean some mischief 
to him later on. He would go over to LobsW Keep in the morning 
and attempt to pacify the great man. 

In the midst of the storm, in spite of its deafening roar, the 
jignt-house keeper became awake that there was a foot upon the 
lower rounds of the iron staircase which led to his room. It might 
be some hundred steps down, but the door of the room beneath the 
dome, where the lamp was shining, was open, and he could not 
mistake the sound as it came up through the tubular winding. 
Undoubtedly there was an iron heel moving up the grating. Walk- 
ing to the door he bent his ear and listened. 

“ SheareBj Shearer!” shouted a voice. 

It was the land-owner. 

” Here I am, sir. Wait a minute till I bring a light. God’s sake, 
«ir, hold on; there’s a door slack in the hinges down there, and if 
ye lean on it ye will be over the rock, before ye know where ye 
are,” 

With a small lamp in his hand the keeper then moved down the 
'winding stair until he had reached the turn from which the voice 
proceeded. 

Mr, Brock was on his hands and knees, and as he lifted his head 
to look at the keeper the blood streamed from beneath his hair. 

” You’re cut, sir,” said Shearer. But the only answer he got 
•w'as a mouthful of profane garbage directed at him from the steps 
where the land-owner lay. 


’ 152 BOULDERSTONE. 

“Follow me, sir, to the lamp-room, and I’ll get that wound 
looked to.” 

At this appeal Mr. Brock struggled to his feet, panting and angry, 
and climbed to the room beneath the dome. 

“ Tou’ve been wonderfully preserved, sir,” remarked Shearer, in 
a disturbed manner. 

As he looked at the sanguinary visage of the man before him he 
seemed to feel for the first time that there were giant powers raging 
outside his turret which might at any moment pick him and hia 
lamp off the projection and cast them through space into the angry 
sea. Anything, he thought, might happen after such a visitation. 
And as the men looked at each other the storm seemed to shake the 
light-house to its foundation. As it howled round the dome they 
could feel that the light house was swaying to the wind like a tree^ 
And lurid flashes of red lightning now flamed around them, and 
the lamp burned as if it were a shadow. 

A flock of sea-birds, driven off the water, shrieked round the 
light, and were cast like stones against the outer glass. It sounded 
like the beginning of ruin. It was followed by the rushing of 
water and the tunibling of pebbles. Then there was a lull. 

Shearer felt a strange inclination to pray. Brock relieved .himself 
by some exclamatory and descriptive oaths. 

“ Whisht, whisht, sir,” Said the keeper, who now seemed gen- 
uinely alarmed, stooping to a bucket with a handful of “ waste, 
and approaching to remove the blood from his visitor’s brow. 
“ What in the world, sir, brought you here?” 

“ Why did 1 come here? Because, as a justice of the peace, I 
felt myself bound to see that there was a light kept burning. That’a 
why.” 

Shearer was alarmed at the attitude of his guest; he invited him 
to sit by the stove, hung his coat on a peg, and made him as com- 
fortable as he could under the circumstances. 

“ Have ye a kettle?” asked the justice of the peace. 

Shearer had no kettle, but he had tin coffee-cups and a box of 
biscuits. Yet he could make coffee in a tew minutes. But the great 
man could do better than that, he said, if the light-house keeper 
would put his hand in the pocket of his ulster. Shearer did so, and 
drew out a quart bottle of whiskey. 

“ The Petrel’s in the bay,” said Mr. Brock, “ but she’ll have to 
lie out till the morning. The harbor’s under water. 1 wish Sir 
Neil Dutton joy of his quarters.” 

“Man alive! is she in the bay, say ye?” uncorking the whisky 
and filling up the cups with raw spirits. 

The wound was not difficult to treat. In coming round from 
Sandstone Mr. Brock had stumbled frequently, once upon his head. 
Why he had not stumbled over the cliff only the Providence which 
takes care ot the drunken man knows. 

The keeper made haste to lead off the drinking, because he felt 
that the sooner the justice of peace went to sleep the better for him. 
So, while the storm roared round them, they made themselves as 
comfortable as it they had been back in the inn parlor. Both men 
handled their cups with an object in view— Shearer because he dis- 


BOULDEKSTOKE. 


153 


liked a spy in his room, Brock because he saw his way to disposing 
of Sir Neil Dutton. 

The object was to send each other asleep. Having drained one 
cup, however, the light-house keeper began to change his point of 
view. He saw before him a hospitable justice of peace who had a 
suiveillance over the machinery and the lamp and his conduct to 
boot. Why should not he shut his e.yes and slumber a little while 
this man watched? Mr. Brock replenished the cups once more; the 
keeper tasted, and shutting his eyes he heard the storm as a pleas- 
ant wild dream, which only increased his personal comfort. 

Brock was watchine him narrowly from the other side of the 
stove. He shut and opened liis eyes several times, drank again, see- 
ing through a mist the red face of his visitor. Then he muttered 
something as the cup fell from his hands. He was asleep. 

Brock waited patiently for some moments; there was no doubt 
about it; he was asleep. Rising from his chair Brock bent over the 
machinery and pressed his finger upon a button of ivory. The 
glass dome above him w’as immediately wrapped in darkness; only 
by the dim flickering of a hand-lamp in a corner did Brock see the 
pale, sleeping face of his companion. And iv'do the Bay of Boul- 
derstone the North Sea flung its crested waves, and there was no 
light between them and the quenched stars. 

Some hours later Brock heard a cannon firing through the storm, 
and he knew that he had succeeded in sending the “ Petrel ” on 
the rocks. 


CHAPTER XXXVlll. 

WRECK OF THE “PETREL.” 

The wind roared over Boulderstone as it drew on to midnight, 
and the ears of the sleepless heard the voice of the sea get loud and 
•ever louder through the night watches. It seemed as if the North 
Sea were concentrating all its passionate fury on the little town. At 
one time fiery figures of seven w^ould shoot down the horizon, apd 
the valley would be filled with the crack and peal of thunder, 
shaken out of clouds w^hicli had been sw^ept across the white and 
tumbling abysses of the bay. 

Then the wind would come in and assail with a shriek and whis- 
tle every cranny of the great square, each lane of the foreshore, the 
river-edge, and the winding streets of the Brown Hill, and with 
«ach new gust there w^ere tossed off the roots chimneys which fell 
in fragments beneath, and slates which were w'hirled with a jingling 
crack into neighboring windows. Foam, churned into sheets and 
wreaths, hovered and flew over the town, and settling, trickled in 
salt streams from the roofs and walls of the most inland houses. 

A permanent atmosphere of blinding spray circled the shore like 
a thick fringe, and at regular intervals a white surge rose over the 
parish church and shook the belfry. 

The bell rang out through the din, and it was known to the old 
inhabitants that the inevitable signal being given, there would be 
dead faces to be turned among the driven sea-weed on the morrow. 

The first note of the bell was ever the summons for a gathering of 


154 


BOULDERSTONE. 


fishermen at the Brae-head. It was a little past midnight when 
first lesounded. All the tires had long been out, and the doors 
were shut for the night; but a few minutes alter the first peal a 
figure clad in a yellow oil-skin stood at the door of an entry oppos- 
ite the churchyard. Bending his head, and, as it were, diving 
through the whirling wind, the figure made oft to the Brae-head, 
being sometimes beaten to the house walls, sometimes cast into the 
road. It was Faitlier Dykes, still the most alert, spit e of his age, and 
by the time he had taken his place on the eastern outlook of the lit- 
tle promontory the clang of the bell had roused all who were to 
come. One by one from the doorways the sou’-westered inhabit- 
ants made their exits, rolling through the drenching mists of the 
sea, the tiles flying round their heads, and in halt an hour the brae 
had its crowd of observers. On the town side of the promontory 
the Whale’s Head had its seaward windows lit, and the landlord 
had built up a great fire in the kitchen, and put water in his boiler, 
and tried the tap of the spirit-cask. He had lived long enough iu 
Boulderstone to know that out of the hurly-burly there might at any 
moment be brought a company of sailors half dead with sea- water, 
and in want of all the restoratives he could offer. Indeed a storm 
had often been a most lucrative night’s work for him, and if he was 
not always repaid for the trouble of lighting up, he always solaced 
himself by extra drams. 

“ 1 havena heard the kirk-bell gang like that for fifty j’^ears,” said 
one black shadow in the lea of the outlook at the Brae-bead to the 
group of shadows who clustered round it. And the bell rang out as 
the speaker— Faitlier Dykes— talked, peal after peal of muffled 
sound. The notes came shivering down the wind to the Brae-head, 
and as they passed to the east in the storm some of the fishermen 
trembled as if a spirit had gone by them. 

“ Hearken til’t,” said another voice out of the blackness, as the 
metallic clangor continued. “ The auld kirk maun be maistly under 
spree-watter. It’s watter that’s drivin’ the tongue o’ the' bell; ye 
can tell that by the sound o’t. It’s gaun to be another heigh tide.” 

. ” 1 wish there be nae hand on the rope but the win’ an’ the wai- 
ter,” said a low, bass voice. 

” Whatna haun’, ye fule?” 

” A wat ye ken fine that there’s speerits eneuch i’ the auld kirk- 
yard lae ring a’ the bells o’ the coonty.” 

” Whisht, man! Jack Tamson, ye suldna say the like o’ that.”^ 
And the men pressed shoulder to shoulder, like a flock of sheep, 
nearer the shelter of the outlook, not a man of them without a 
tremor at his heart, while the bell still tolled and the notes went 
sobbing down the wind. 

” I’ve heerd ma faither say tnat a nicht like this there wis a deed 
man’s cry in every ring,” continued the bass voice from the outside 
edge of the group, and his companions pressed still nearer to one 
another. 

Then there w^as a Ions silence among them, and the only light 
which broke the darkness of the midnight was tlie massive changing 
whiteness of the shore where great rollers were chasing each other 
up the beach. A sheet of flames sometimes tore along the crests of 
the waves, and made the darkness moie intense than it was before. 


BOULDEKSTOXE. 


155 


And still the cburcli-bell sent up its voice to join the tumult. In 
•one of the lulls which followed, Faitlrer Dykes was heard to say, 

“ I’ve lost coont o’ Sandstone licht for the last twenty minutes. It 
-canna be slockened.” 

“ Slockened— na. It couldna be slockened if the licht-hoose be na 
ower the rock. Shearer’s a skeely man wi’ the lamp,” 

“ It’s the fog an' the spray that blinds your een, faither.” 

“ There’s naething blinds my een,” saicl Faither Dykes. ” Daum 
me, if 1 dinna think the licht’s oot,” 

And every eye was turned to Sandstone Head. 

” The licht canna be oot,” said one and another of them, though 
nothing was shining on the waves save the blue and red flashes of 
the lightning. 

” It’ll gang hard wi’ John .Jansen the nicht if he disna tak’ the 
North Sea ivi’ the ste^imboat,” said another voice. 

” It’ll gang hard M i’ him whether or no if there’s onything in my 
laither’s story o’ that bell. Hearken til’t! hearken til’tl” 

” Ne’er min’ the bell,” interrupted Faither Dykes. “ If the 
licht’s oot we maun show a signal tae keep the steamer aff the bar. 
If he disna see a shore licht at a’ naething ’ll hinder ‘m frae takin’ 
the rocks. A tar-barrel, lads, as quick’s ye can. Awa 3'e go. Bring 
halt a dizzen if ye can get them.” And the old man pushed the 
•crowd that was leaning up to the shelter of the outlook, and several 
figures disappeared in the direction of the Whale’s Head. 

“Whisht! whisht!” said Faither Dykes to the group which re- 
mained. “ What’s that? Anither bell. It’s frae the sea.” 

And sure enough over the waves came the tones of another bell, 
not so deep as that booming from the church tower, not so fitful, 
but a bell rung rapidly and sternl}^ as it by the hand of some des- 
perate man. 

“ It’s the ‘ Petrel’s ’ bell. 1 ken it flue. Arid, my God! she maun 
be wdthin a hunner yairds o’ the bar. He’s lost his recKonin’ i’ the 
bay, and come ower-fast east.” 

“ Goa have mercy on them!” called out Faither Dykes. “ See to 
that— see, seel it’s the ‘ Petrel,' an' ^e’s at the bar. He’s tryin’ to 
tak’ the river. Oh, God, have mercy on them! God have mercy — ” 

I’he blackness of the bay had yawned into momentary light, and 
the steamer, laboring heavily, loomed into view. Every man saw 
her, and the next moment she w^as among the breakers. She had 
no sooner struck than a gun tired, and then another, and another. 

“ Hand awa tae the shore, lads!” cried Faither Dykes. “ Get 
oot the boat.” 

At that moment there was shouting on the path of the outlook, 
and two barrels were roiled on to the promontory. 

“ Three o’ ye liclit up. The rest o’ ye come doon tae the shore 
and launch.” 

But just then the black pall which hung over the bay began to 
lift. The outlines of the river rushing to the sea— brown, deep, and 
swollen— were visible to the fishermen. The turrets of the cast’e 
began to show in the east, and far off Dutton Head, wrapped in foam 
and mist and spray, raised a visible shoulder to the sea. 

And there, not a hundred yards oft, lay the ” Petrel,” the waves 
breaking over her. She had gone ashore on the stormiest part of tiie 


UOL'I-DEKSTOXE. 


156 

coast, and all the waves were laden with kegs, boxes, barrels, and 
packages, washed from the deck and out of the hold. 

“ Launch, 1 tell yeV' cried Faither Dkyes, who led the fishermen 
down the befich to the river’s edge. 

“It’s perfect madness, faither; there’s no boat wad live i’ that 
sea.’’ 

“ VVha’ll gang wi’ me?’’ shouted the old man. 

“ Me,’’ said a boy without a jacket, recognizable in the morning 
light as Ileatherhead. 

“ There’s nane o’ ye ill gang oot i’ tJiat sea,” shrieked a woman’s 
voice, while the owner of it pushed her way into the crowd, her 
disheveled hair floating behind her. 

“ Launch, 1 tell ye; I’m gaun oot,’’ said Faither Dykes. 

“ Ye gang oot, ye feckless, dottled auld body! And wull the rest 
o’ ye staun roond and glower and glower, and lat him go?’’ con- 
tinued the woman. 

The boat was launched; Faither Dykes at the tiller. Heather- 
head held the sheet of a small jib, which was all the sail that dare 
be hoisted; four fishermen had silently taken the oars. And thus 
they shot out upon the swmllen stream. 

The darkness parted, and let the light of a dingy dawn in upon 
the scene. 

Shortly the Brae-head was crowded with spectators, and before 
the sun had shed its first rays upon the sea, river, and town a stream 
of men, women, and children were struggling down through the- 
wind to the shore. There lay the “ Petrel ’’ on the rocks of the bar, 
only visible at intervals, her masts and funnel gone, her glistening 
decks swept of everything, the tide bringing them in to the beach on 
the crests of broken and boiling waves. 

From the Brae-head the air was rent with cries. 

A woman on her knees, surrounded by the wives of the men who^ 
w’ere at the oars in the boat, prayed in a loud liysterical voice. 

The dead bodies were beginning to come in. From a heap of 
tangle the boatswain and male were pulled out and carried aw’ay,. 
both sadly mangled by the rocks. 1 hen an unknown female body 
rolled up the shingle, and a w’ave stronger than its predecessors laid 
Captain Jansen's remains at their feet. 

“ Ay — it micht weel toll the haele niclit throe,’’ murmured a fisher- 
man in whose ear the church-bell w^as still sounding, as he bent 
down and fastened his hand in the collar of the thick pilot-coat. 

Jansen’s face wras as untroubled and serene as it was in life. As 
they bore him up the Brae-head through the w^eeping crowd he 
might have been asleep. 

“ Bring him hame,’’ said a gaunt, pale woman, without a tear in 
her eye or a tremor in her voice. It was Jean Scott, who w'alked in 
the stateliness of her grief at her master’s feet. 

Meanwhile, surrounded by floating timber, and with no hope of 
living in Ihe sea beyond the bar, the boat had turned, and was draw- 
ing toward the east side of the river. It was the only beach on 
which it could land. Their endeavor had been a failure. Toward 
the boat a group from the castie, which had been standing since 
dawn on the shingle, moved down. The capitalist was there. He 
was haggard and unshaven, and ail ilm resolution had left his face. 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


157 

The resources he had at command were powerless on that stormy 
shore. Nothing suggested itself to his mind. He w^is cowed and 
silent as the keel of the boat lore up the sand, and the men leaping 
out lifted Faither Dykes, drenched but resolute, from his seat at the 
tiller. 

“ You’ve saved nothing,” said Mr. Frazer, looking into the boat 
w^hen it had been hauled high and dry out of reach of the waves. 

” Ay, this;” and Heatherhead handed him a dressing-case, with 
a plate and the name of Sir Neil Dutton on it. Fie read the name 
and moved away to tne castle. Then he turned back, and said, 
quietly, 

” Fifty pounds to the man who finds Sir Neil’s remains.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

IN THE WINE-CELLAR. 

1 HE evening after the wreck there was nothing to indicate that a 
storm had shaken heaven and the sea, except the wall ot tangles 
thrown on the beach. The sea was still heaving and surging, but 
the wind had ceased to howl— its passion was spent. 

Various corners of Boulderstone had their groups of men talking 
in a low, subdued wTiisper to each other. 

The calamity might have been read in the face of the least con- 
cerned inhabitant. Every man walked as if he were in training for 
a funeral; even the boys had ceased to play and laugh, and hung 
outside the group of their seniors listening, with their mouths open 
and their hands in repose. 

Ab Rab Peat, the ferry- man and grave-digger, proceeded through 
the square that evening, he was gazed upon with unusual emotion. 
And as he went soberly up toward the town-bridge, attired in a 
swallow-tail coat, which had onc^ adorned the broad back ot the 
parish minister, and which might have held three of its present oc- 
cupant, with room to spare, he felt that circumstances had con- 
ferred on him the sudden distinction of being a leading inhabitant. 
To be recognized by Rab that evening as he passed the saddened ! 
loungers was felt to be an honor. But the grave-digger was sparing 
in his recognitions; he merely glancCd with the tail ot his eye over 
the wisp of linen which surrounded his neck, and gave a slight jerk 
to any one who solicited his attention. Yet it >vas deemed suffi- 
cient. With so many graves on his mind, no one was so rational 
as to suppose that Rab could condescend upon the minor courtesies. 

In half an hour the grave-digger was standing at the hall-door ot 
the castle. He had looked up at the windows with some admira- 
tion. Every window had its blind down; from the large ones on 
the ground-floor to the uppermost slit of a window beyond reach of 
the last tendrils of the ivy there was nothing to be seen but calico. 
Outside the castle, too, there was nothing to break the propriety of 
the situation to Rab’s mind. A stag-hound was indeed visible in the- 
door-way, but he walked oft with his tail suitably inserted between 
his legs. Nor was there a sound to break the solemn stillness. It 
was so still that the grave-digger had his hand on the bell three: 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


158 

minutes before he could bring himself to draw the wire gently. At 
last he drew it without ringing, and looking through the glass doors 
he saw himself invited from the inner room by the wagging of a 
finger which belonged to Mr, M’Callum, the butler, whose round, 
red, and perturbed countenance by and by became visible. 

Gently letting: himself through the intervening doors, Rab stepped 
on tiptoe across the hall, and, at the heels of M’Callum, disappeared 
toward the old and Gothic seclusion of the castle. 

They met no one as they noiselessly threaded their way through 
the gloom, and descended a flight ot steps hewn from the rock, and 
stopped at a door, stanchioned with iron, from the Iock of which a 
bunch of keys was hanging; 

Rab’s nostrils dilated at the door-way; it was already open, and 
drawing a long breath he entered with a voluminous sigh. Once in- 
side the wine-cellars, the fumes of the various vintages greeted him, 
and Rab, spite of the solemnity of the occasion, was obliged to ex- 
claim, “ This is deleeshus.” 

M’Callum, with an injunction that the grave-digger was to look 
after his head and his shins, led the way within the subterranean 
passage, and his companion eyed the casks and the bottle-racks with 
much internal respect. His mind was so entirely occupied by the 
encouraging odor of wine that when M’Callum motioned him to a 
Btool at the base of a claret cask, on the summit of which a candle 
was burning, and himself took a seat in an opposite recess in the 
wall, Rab was surprised to see his friend burying his face in a 
napkin, and making a noise like that of weeping. The grave-digger 
had been too long in active contact with ultimate problems to be a 
weeper. He therefore sat and looked at the butler a lilile contemptu- 
ously as he coniinued to bury his face in the napkin. 

“ There’s nae word o’ the corp,” said Rab, at length, with all the 
directness of one ot his own shovels at a filling in. M’Callum laid 
aside the napkin, and revealed a face whose eyes were swollen with 
blubbering. 

“ Oh, man, Rab, can ye no’ pit it gentler?” said the butler, who 
was an early school-fellow ot the grave-digger, but who had been 
much about the world, and had even attained the English dialect, 
though he did not use it on this occasion. But Rab was suffering 
from a disappointment; and the red eyes of the butler, inflamed as 
he judged by more than natural grief, had an irritating effect. 

” Ye canna ca’ him onything ither noo,” he continued, ” and the 
corp hasna been gotten.” 

M’Callum rose with a deep siarh, and disappearing among the 
racks, returned with a cduple ot bottles. 

The grave-digger stood up and put aside his swallow-tail, as one 
who recognized that important business was to be done. 

In his shirt-sleeves he seemed the merest skeleton of a man ; so 
loosely did even his linen and breeches hang about him, he looked 
4is if he were a temporary make-shift of bones and ligament. 
M’Callum required to look at the round, massive chin of his friend 
^nd the piercing eyes to reconcile himself to the change. 

“ It’s nane o’ that fushionless soor milk, 1 houp?” said Rab, 
critically, as his friend approached with the bottles, handling them 
like infants at a christening. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


159 


“ Oor claret’s a’ in casks,” replied the butler, uncorking. “ An’ 
it’s no’ a wine to turn your nose up at, Rab. For whatever yo\i 
an’ 1 may agree in saying derogatory to Frazer, we can say naething 
against his wine. To my certain knowledge there’s never been a. 
cellar in Boulderstoue Castle that for variety and price could be 
compared to what we’re sitlin’ i’ the midst of noo. Frazer may be 
low in his views — he is low; but he has a high standard for his wine. 
It would maybe surprise ye to be told that there’s £4,000 in the cellar” 
at this moment, all iutroduced within the month.” 

” It’ll be a braw funeral,” said Rab, emptying a tumbler of costly 
port and surveying his friend as he leaned back in the dusky recess, 

‘‘ Robert, 1 had great expectations from the young gentleman. 1 
built upon him. 1 saw that the fortunes o’ the family were to b& 
raised to a great point by him. And 1 was busy educating him for 
his position. Not to speak of either matters, 1 had improved hmi 
in the matter of wine. He was beginning to abandon the thin, old 
vintages of the Rhine, and to patronize this,” holding up the port. 
” He wad have been a credit to us a’. And to think o’ him at this, 
moment! It’s ower much — 1 canna stand it. 1 canna indeed.” 

And the butler again had recourse to his handkerchief. 

‘‘ Yehavenamade upyer mind aboot the cotfm, M’Callum? Take 
my word for’t, Sandy Harold is the man for the job. Ye’ll have to- 
exerceese yer influence wi’ Frazer tae get the cofiBn into Sandy’s 
hands.” 

“ Oh, Robert, 5 ”e liariow my feelin’s mair than 1 can tell.” 

” Sandy has kisted the gentry foi threity years, and this verra day 
he took me throo his wood-yaird, and showed me aik that there’s no 
the marrow to in the hale loon. An’ his mountin’s an’ handles is 
just beautifu’. Sandy kens his bizniz. Says he to me, ‘ 1 ken tbe 
baronet’s measurement to tlie breadth o’ my nail.’ For Sandy 
wasna sure but he wad get the job afore lang, though the sea hadna 
taen him. Whaur Sandy got his measurement 1 canna say; but i’" 
the kirk he’s gae busy wi’ his een whaun the minister’s preachin’. 
Ye’ll mind what 1 say to ye, M’Callum. I can conscientiously rec- 
ommend Sandy’s coflins.” 

” Man, Rab, you’re makin’ my flesh creep.” 

” They’re water-ticht an’ worm-proof,” continued the grave-dig- 
ger, reflectively, clasping his tumbler with both his hands, ” an’ 1 
dinna recommend them tor ony selt-seekin’ reason: they gie me 
trouble eneuch, for a cofiin o’ Sandy’s is just like the foondation- 
stane o’ a boose. Nicholson’s boxes, and Smith’s and Cooper’s and 
Broon’s fa’ tae pieces in nae time. A hale country-side an’ genera- 
tion gets confoonded thegither in twa three year under their trate- 
ment. But there’s auld George Waters, o’ llower; he’s a kind o^ 
immortal in his grave, because Sandy kisted him. An’ there’s Dad- 
dy Sinclair, o’ Giese, an’ John Davidson, o’ Glengolly— roond an” 
roond them kists hae faun tae pieces, and Sandy’s handiwark 
stauns. It’s a kind o’ nooshance tae me, for it hinders me i’ the dig- 
gin’ ; only 1 canna but respec’ Sandy. It’s no self-seekin’, for ye ken 
the baronet's coffin wad be puttin’ i’ the vaults, whaur there’s nae 
spade- wark at a'.” 

” Robert, speak aboot him livin’ and no’ aboot him deed. 1 diu- 
hp like this matter-o’-factness o’ yours. Your occupation mak’s 


160 


BOTJLDERSTONE. 


ye think ower niiickle o’ the cauld clay. You’re stronger on your 
legs than me, Robert; just gang ben tliere, an’ reach dooii twa three 
bottles— the mooldier an’ dirtier i’ the ootside the bettei tae the 
taste.” 

” Anither o’ the same,” said the grave-digger, returning and re- 
suming his seat at the foot of the cask with a suddenness w^hich sug- 
gested that he had i)een pulled down from behind. M’Callum gave 
him the corkscrew, but he tumbled with it without making any im- 
pression on the seal. M’Calluin did not offer to help him, though 
he eyed him solemnly as he pursued his task. 

‘‘A bit knock on the neck ’ll put that licht,” observed Rab, 
dropping the screw and breaking the neck of the bottle upon the 
<edged of a cask. ” It’s wasterfu’, but there’s nae ither way for’l,” 
he murmured, filling the butler’s tumbler and his own. 

” I’m kin’ o' sorry, M’Callum, for the mither, an’ the sweethert 
too.” 

‘‘ Man,” said M’Callum. hiccoughing and finding his words 
slowly, “ ye needna. Sweethert’s no’ carin’. Fac’s deeth. Ko’ 
carin’ — that!” And the butler made an ineffectual effort to snap 
the thumb of his right hand. ‘‘ Aft wi’ the auld love, on wi’ the 
new. Jean— a bonny lassie, Robert— Jean tell’t me — Jean, the 
maid, ye ken — aft wi’ the auld love, on wi’ the new.” 

” Whatna new?” asked the grave-digger, gazing with astonish- 
ment at his companion’s sudden want of control over his speech. 

“ Brock o’ the Keep,” answered the butler, pronouncing it, ” rok- 
okoeep,” and showing a disposition to be drowsy. 

” Is there naetliing lichter than this stuff?” asked Rab, alluding 
to the port, and fearing an untimely end to the interview. ” I’ll 
awa’ ben an’ see.” 

Presently he disappeared in the dark, and returned with two un- 
familiar bottles, taken from a case. 

” Thae's licht drinkin’, Robert,” said the butler, recovering him- 
«elt. ” Just knock aft the heeds.” 

Rab turned one of the bottles round ancfj-ound with an affecta- 
tion of perusing the label, and fell to exclaiming, ” A braw funeral, 
a braw funeral. Rodderer! 1 never min’ o’ tastin’ Rodderer afore. 
It’s a wersh, windy sort o’ stuft— ye’ll be the better o’t, M’Callum.” 

” It’s dance drink,” said the butler, stopping short in the midst of 
his draught—” it’s sacrileege tae be at it in a time o’ grief. I’m awa’ 
tae yon toon for a wee, Robert. Put a licht tae the wick o’ the lamp 
abune yer head an ’wauken me in half an hour.” 

” Aweel,” said the grave digger, lighting the lamp and resuming 
his seat on his stool. 

The lamp gave but a feeble light; but it was more than sufficient 
for the patient Robert. He was in no hurry. His quarters were 
perfectly to his mind. So he folded his arms across his lean bosom 
and bent his head, determined to wait the wakening of his compan- 
ion. 

How long he slept himself he could not say, but he did sleep. A 
twinge of pain in his shoulder, and a cold current of air in the back 
of his neck, were the first intimations that he must have slept some 
time. When he opened his eyes the butler’s round, red countenance 
■was the first object upon which he looked. The butler was trump- 


BOULDERSTONE. 161 

eting through his nose in a way that made the subterranean pas- 
sages echo again. 

Robert was looking at him fixedly when his ears caught, as he 
supposed, the sound ot a footstep approaching from the unlocked 
door of the cellars. He turned his eyes in that direction and strained 
them in the darkness. There was unquestionably a footstep. 

Robert stretched across and kicked the butler; he only groaned 
and trumpeted the louder^ The footstep still approached; then it 
stopped, and the grave-digger saw something which, with all his 
experience, surprised him. 

Sir Neil Dutton was standing in the gloom; he had a whip in his 
hand; he was dressed as if he had been on horseback, and there 
were spots of mud on his clothes, itobert’s jaws moved against each 
other; materialist as his profession had made him, he knew no spell 
to exorcise the wandering spirits of the dead. 

Then Sir Neil Dutton, looking down at him, observed, 

“ \ ou seem to have been improving your time. 1 hope you have 
found everything to your mind.” It was not an angry spirit at all 
events; that was so far satisfactory; but Robert’s teeth ciiattered, and 
he looked helplessly from the broken and empty bottles to the face 
of the spirit. “ 1 suppose, my lean friend, that pleasant old gentle- 
man in the recess is the remains of my butler. He seems to have 
no anxieties in life. He enjoys most excellent repose;” and the spirit 
receded a step into the gloom, 

” I’ve been thirty-seeven years in the tred, and I’ve kent plenty o’ 
corpses that had gude raisins for takin’ an airin’, but it’s the first 1 
ever set een on. It’s no a weel-regulated corp at a’. It’s no a weel- 
informed corp. It thinks M’Callum’s deed. An’ him playin’ 
^ Maggie Lauder ’ there through his nose.” 

” Don’t mind me,” said Sir Neil Dutton, retiring into the darkness. 

“ It’s a polite corp ony way,” said the dazed grave-digger, lean- 
ing across and shaking his comrade by the knees. 

The butler opened his eyes and looked upon as white a little old 
man as there was in Christendom at that hour. 

” I’ve seen his ghaist, ]\l’CaIlum,” he shivered. ” An’ I’ve been 
seeven-an’-thirty year in the ired, an’ never sawtne like o’t afore,” 

At that moment the turning of the key in the cellar door apprised 
them of the fact that this particular gdio'st had some power over the 
tougher substances to which he applied his fingers. 


CHAPTER XL. 

ROUTING THEM OUT. 

It had long been shrewdl}’^ suspected at Sandstone that Magnus 
would have to pay for the luxury of felling the laird. Some ot the 
gossips even went the length of saying that “ he needn’t have been 
so particular.” But then he had only been married a few months 
at the time, and was still in a silly and devoted condition of mind. 

When three months passed, however, and only one allusion had 
been made Ui. the transaction, and Mr. Brock never appeared again, 
it began to lie forgotten that he received so callous a return for his 


162 


BOULDEllSTOXE. 


effusive behavior. The allusion had been, it is true, a sheriff’s offi- 
cer’s visit announcing that, after rent day, every man, woman, and 
child must be off the estate; but the little community settled down 
to its work again, and took no thought about it. ' 

He might as well have posted a notice at low-water mark to warn 
the oysters and bivalves in general that they must drop their shells 
and go with the waves elsewhere. Sandstone comprehended the 
notice to quit so badly that it hardly discussed it. 

But there came a inorning when all the male population of Sand- 
stone was called to the headland. A ship had been drawn by the 
tide within a hundred yards of the cliffs. It required the united 
seamanship of the hamlet to correct the ship-master’s mistake, and 
to take her off with all sails set to the horizon. 

After the day’s work the boats were racing in from the North Sea 
as hard as a mild wind would propel them. Magnus’s craft led, and 
the exhausted crews, silently looking forward to their evening’^s 
smoke beside the peat fires, spoke not a word to one another. 

Suddenly Magnus shifted his seat at his tiller, and said, half to 
himself, hall to his crew, 

“Good God! what’s going on at the cliff?” 

Every eye looked upward. Darkness was gathering among the 
crags, but there was a cloud of smoke hanging about their sum- 
mits. 

“ The bairns have been buinin’ the whins,” suggested an oracu- 
lar voice from the prow. 

“ Maybe,” said Magnus, “ but we’ll hftve to give the wind a 
hand. Out wi’ the oars, boys.” 

When the boats touched , the quay, and the men pushed their 
heads above the cliff, the smoke explained itself. 

Two cottage roofs were a mass of flames. The silly thatch 
crackled and blazed as if it enjoyed itself. They were the only 
roofs which remained — Magnus’s house hud nothing but three 
walls left. 

The fishermen-farmers stood bewildered. What had happened to 
them? They had gone down in the morning to the sea, the younger 
ones kissing their wives just as if they had been the heroes of an old 
song, and the seniors breathing kindly threats to the children as a 
bond for their good behavior during the day. 

But the wives and the youngsters, where ivere they? Ah, there 
they were, a whole group of them, the.y and their bits of furniture 
together — wooden stools, infants, heaps of crockeiy, cradles, and 
beds jumbled all together. 

“ In God’s name, what does this mean?” cried old Daddy Find- 
horn, as the men advanced in bewilderment. The burning thatch 
collapsed and the falling beams scattered a shower of sparks around. 

There was a rush of small children, a clinging to the knees of tho 
fathers and brothers, and a cry rent the air wh^ch the sea itself and 
all the melancholy tribe of rock-birds could not have rendered in 
more sorrowful tones. Presently each man betook himself to his 
own cot and patch of land. Magnus’s young wife, hanging on his 
arm, drew him off to the spot which was to have been their home 
for life. It had only been a brown, yellow-thatched affair at best. 
But it was the mansion of the hamlet tor all that. W hile the rest 


BOULDERSTOXE, 


163 


of the villagers were content that their peat smoke should ascend 
from the middle of the floor through a hole in the root, Magnus had 
inserted a cabin stove, that the tide had washed ashore tor him, in 
the side of his chief room. His pilot-fees had often been supple- 
mented by small gifts fiom merchant-captains — coral from the 
South Seas, monster shells from the West Indies, and a skin or two 
from Greenland. Magnus’s wife had a cow, and she gave the cow 
an out-house for herself, whereas her neighbors were content with 
a partition over which the animal’s horns would show themselves to 
the family in the kitchen. 

As the pair looked in upon the home which had been their pride, 
which had been Magnus’s father’s- and father’s father’s before 
him— they there saw but a contused beau of straw and turf. One 
wall was flat with the ground, and on the other the crockery still 
glanced as Marion had shelved it. 

Magnus’s face darkened, and his hand gripped his wife’s hand as 
he surveyed the work of destruction. 

“Brock and a band o’ men have been here a’ day,” sobbed 
Marion, “ an’ the police wi’ them. We durna say a word. There’s 
whaur we-can gang tae.” And she pointed to tall posters which 
had been stuck round the walls announcing in large letters that to 
“ Brisbane, Brisbane, Brisbane ” there would be free and assisted 
passages; that in “ Brisbane, Brisbane, Brisbane ” there was land tor 
all who cared to take it, and that fortunes were always made by 
everybody who went to “ Brisbane, Brisbane, Brisbane.” 

The posters were of course the work of ]\Ir. Frazer. He had got 
Brock to further his emigration scheme, believing that if one half 
of Sandstone were sent adrift by force the other halt would follow 
of its own accord, fie had arranged it so that the full force of any 
indignation that was going should descend upon Brock, while all 
the advantage of the scheme should accrue to himself. In shitting 
the laborers from the foreshore to the temporary sheds at the inland 
quarries, he had already been so much threatened with violence and 
death that he had no mind to incur any new antipathy. It had been 
easy for him to induce Brock to proceed with eviction, and he prom- 
ised himself that the community would be thoroughly prepared for 
his offers of help. Having made up his mind about the transac- 
tion, he saw no obstacles in the way. He desired them to goto Bris- 
bane. It would remunerate him if they went to Brisbane. To 
Brisbane, therefore, the whole hamlet should go. 

“ To hell wi’ Brisbane!” shouted the pilot, riving a poster from 
the wall and leaping among the turf and straw, where, with a kind 
of insane energy, he began to clear a space. 

“ Your gun’s no’ there, Magnus,” said Marion, plaintively, as she 
watched him reaching his arm into the space he had cleared. “ The 
police took it awa’ wdth them,” and in her heart she was thankful 
it was so. 

“ The hoose is my ain and the land’s my ain. It’s mine mair 
than the keep’s his. Never greet, lass. I’ll pay him oot for this,” 
replied the crazed and violent husband. 

That night a skyful of stars looked down upon the ruined huts, 
and the noise of the sea tumbling among the further crags Avas the 
lullaby to the slumbering of the cliildren gathered beneath a tarpau- 


164 


BOULDEllSTOIfE. 


lin, which their sleepless mothers watched. And the men sat round 
a peat fire, votving that they would never leave the clift. 

But ages ago tlie waves had tunneled the clifis between Sand- 
stone and the town, and lett long echoing passages where the wild 
pigeons flew in and out. On the blanched sands at the mouth of 
these the people sometimes picked off a seal before he had time to 
seek the sea, and there were days when an otter might be seen mak- 
ing lonely banquet on a codfish with which he had emerged from 
the bay. 

Into one of these caves, for the present, they determined to go, a 
child having died from the exposure ot the night-time. They took 
the driest they could get, aud divided among them the little tortuosi- 
ties and corners, and trimmed their lamps in them; and the seals 
and otters, scenting their presence from afar, came no more ashore 
at that point. 

They would remain there, they said, until they roofed their houses 
again.' Meantime they made trips to Boulderstone for thatch, and 
began to clothe the dead walls with timber. They meant soon to 
exchange the caves for the hamlet again. 

But one evening two lads never returned, and as Magnus went up 

- the cliff next day to put the finishing touch to his thatch, he was. 
met by three county policemen who had just fixed a trespass-board 
warning the evicted that they would be liable to prosecution. Mag- 
nus was told that two of the lads had been taken to prison already. 

“Have they?” said he, plucking the board and the plank from, 
the earth, and raising it lor a blow.- And that night, too, Magnus 
was lodged in the Boulderstone jail. 

3 

I CHAPTER XLL 

ALIVE. 

Sir Neil Dutton had not taken the sea-passage he originally in- 
tended to the North, though he had gone so far as to put his lug- 
gage on board the “ Petrel.” lie had been detained in Edinburgh 
after the election at Westlands, and his appearance in his own wine- 
cellar is to be explainea without any reference to the world of dis- 
embodied souls. 

' Having ridden across from Humster the night after the wreck, 
and having arrived at the castle late, he had .visited the cellar be- 

- cause of the sounds which traveled up from them in consequence of 
the vigor of M’Callum’s slumbers. He suspected tliat he had co«ne 
back at a time when he was supposed to be dead, from the dum- 
founded expression of the one man he could see about the stables, 
to which he led his horse, and whom he cautioned to say nothing 

' to any one until he had announced himself. The short interview 
with the carious old man at the foot of the barrel confirmed his sus- 
picions. And as he wandered from room to room, after locking the 

- cellar door to avoid the scandal of two bibulous old retainers being 
at large, he was at a loss how to report himself. 

He had as yet no idea how far the surprise of his death had been 
attended by grief, and he hardly knew whether there would be any 


BOULDEliSTOKE. 


165 


risk of reaction by sudden disclosure of hiinselt. He remembered 
that the medical treatment recommended to his mother was a system 
of shocks, but he shrunk from adding bis arrival to the list of cures. 

Would Mr. Frazer and Caroline be very much put about by his 
supposed death? He sincerely hoped they would, for in riding 
home he had again told himself that it would be best for them, for 
himself, and for Boulderstone, in the long run, if warmer relations 
were established between them. 

Sir Neil had been a good deal knocked about at Westlands. He 
had never heard himself so frankly discussed before; and though 
many kind things had been written and said of him, the impression 
which was uppermost in his mind was that of “ audacious puppy,” 
“ ill-inf ormed'turncoat,” “ a promising boy who would yet learn 
not to thrust himself in where ail^els feared to tread ” — the angels 
in this instance being a couple of fat iron-masters whose bashful- 
ness overcame their public spirit — and other phrases and epithets of 
a similar character cast at him from the platform and newspapers of 
Westlands. Above all, he had been sent away from the borough 
unelected. His opponent, standing in the Conservative interest, by 
a slight majority had been returned to Parliament; and in addition 
to the mortification of defeat. Sir Neil had been frankly told that it 
a man of more experience and weight had gfine forward in the Lib- 
eral interest the catastrophe would have been avoided. The stormy 
fortnight he had spent in electioneering had rather softened him 
toward Mr. Frazer. A little experience of what men considered 
themselves entitled to say and do in the interests of party made him 
feel that, after all, the capitalist’s efforts to bring speedy prosperity 
to the estates were not so immoral as he had begun to suppose them. 
Not that he felt any less a dislike to the wholesale method of deal- 
ing with the old and settled population of Boulderstone. He had it 
even stronger than ever; but a comparison of practical methods 
showed him that what he bad considered to be outrageous in the ex- 
treme was only the common expedient of “ practical ” men. Get 
the thing done, whatever it is, and never halt if there be any availa- 
ble means of doing it. That was the doctrine of practice he had 
perceived in action at Westlands. I’or himself he shrunk from it; 
but he had to admit that most men of affairs with whom he had 
come in contact recognized and acted on it. 

After leaving the cellars, he stood for some time undecided in the 
room used by Mr. Frazer as a library. He knew no better way of 
being attended than to ring until some of the servants made their / 
appearance. So he went on ringing until a footstep made itself 
audible in the distance. It was Mr. Frazer who answered the bell. 

“ I’m afraid you’ve been disturbed by the ringing,” said Sir Neil, 
recognizing in the capitalist’s gasp and pause and long scrutiny that 
he was in a state of dismay. “ It’s all right, Mr. Frazer. You 
thought 1 was drowned, 1 dare say. 1 meant to come round with 
the ‘ Petrel;’ but, fortunately for me, 1 had to abandon that route 
and get north by train, and ride over from Humster.” 

Mr. Frazer advanced a step, seeing that the noumenal chaiacter 
of Sir Neil was disappearing. He had expected to And the butler, 
and to find him drunk, as he promised to be by his behavior during 
the day; it was the ringing which had brought him from his room. 


166 


BOULDERSTONE. 


But it you have made up your mind that a familiar figure has once 
for all disappeared from life, it is difficult to be at once reconciled 
to him when he steps briskly into view again without previous 
notice. Mr. Frazer went forward slowly to the fire-place, still scru- 
tinizing anxiously the baronet’s features. 

“ It beats everything 1 ever heard tell of,” he at last exclaimed, 
as he held out his hand. “ Man, 1 had a reward of fifty pounds 
out for your remains; and her ladyship and Caroline are very low 
with grief. You’ve put us all sadly about.” 

” Well, 1 can claim the reward in person. You see before you 
the remains of the defeated candidate for Westlands. But how are 
we to let Caroline and my mother know?” 

“Lady Dutton was sore stridden ; it will be well to relieve her 
mind at once, t will apprise myjdaughter myself.” 

Caroline had been sitting at her bedroom fire. Her maid was 
moving from the dressing-table to the back of the chair, where she 
was brushing out her mistress’s long, brown tresses. 

The girl was pale and silent, and she would not let her maid leave 
the room on any pretext, She was to sleep near her that night. 
Bat as yet, though it was long past her usual hour, she could not 
persuade herself to go to bed. 

“ 1 think, miss, if you would let me undress you it would be bet- 
ter than your sitting there. You’ll make yourself ill thinking about 
it.” 

Caroline only removed her foot from the fender, and crossed one 
leg over another in an unconscious, masculine manner. But she 
made no reply lor some time. 

“ 1 could take the least thing more brandy, Janie; I’ve had very 
little, and 1 believe it would make me sleep.” Her maid brought 
her the stimulant; she drank it, and, looking into the fire, quietly 
said, “ Janie, it’s just as well as it is. 1 was getting quite fright- 
ened for him. He didn’t understand me, and 1 didn’t understand 
him. 1 am sure we would have been miserable if we had been mar 
ried. Think wdiat a nice man IVlr. Brock is beside him.” 

“ Oh, ma’am, he was a good master, too,” said the maid, genu- 
inely grieved at the supposed drowning of Sir Neil, and even shed- 
ding a tear or two in recollection of him. 

“ Yes, 1 dare say he was good enough, Janie. But, do you know, 
1 think he got not to care about me, and 1 am sure Iwas getting not 
to care about him. His head -was always so full of other things and 
people. ’ ’ 

“ But a man like him, miss, has to think of so much. Will you 
marry Mr. Brock, miss?’' asked the maid, as she laid out the 
snowy vestments in which her mistress was to sleep. 

“ Janie, what a question to ask me! What would you think if I 
were to take him, though? Poor fellow! he’s dreadfully in love 
with me. There’s nobody has liked me half so well as Hew.” 

“ There’s such stories about him, ma’am.” 

“ Well, 1 don’t care anything about the stories. 1 like a man 
with a spice of the devil in him.^’ 

There came a gentle tap at the door, and Mr. Frazer’s voice asked. 

Have you gone to bed. Carry?” 

“ You mustn’t come in yet, pap!” cried the girl, jumping from 


BOULDERSTONE. 107 

her chair and making to a box behind her mirror, where she seized 
some confections to deodorize the spirits. 

Whatever brings him here, Jane, at this houi?” she asked in a 
whisper, carrying off a liible to the hre-place and opening it at 
random. 

“ All right, papa, come in,” 

The maid stood behindiher mistress, and her father stepped half- 
way across the room. 

” Carry, the strangest thing has liappened. 1 had to come and 
tell you myself.” 

‘‘ They have found the — ” And the girl waited for her father to 
finish the sentence with ‘‘ body,” ‘‘ corpse,” ” remains,” or such 
other word as properly conveyed the meaning of the comforting 
discovery. 

” Kot at all,” said he, his face wearing a happier expression than 
his daughter had seen on it for a long time. ‘‘ Not at all. We 
were all wrong. lie was never on board the ‘ Petrel. ’ He came 
the other way— he isn’t drowned— he’s well and alive, and on his 
legs down-stairs.” 

Caroline took some moments to realize what had actually oc- 
curred. Sir Neil was alive; he was not blotted out, and a new page 
of her history was to commence. She would yet have to marry 
him, cold, distant, intellectual, and priggish as he was. There was 
an end to her dear dream of marrying the Laird of Lobster Keep. 

Caroline w'ould have liked to faint; ii would have suited all the 
circumstances of the case if she had tainted. But the announce- 
ment tilled her with an acute indignation whose natural termination 
was not unconsciousness. Instead of leaning back in her chair and 
closing her long lids over her sweet brown eyes, she opened her 
mouth and gave a sharpr^ustained scream of rebellion. 

‘‘No, no, nol” she cried, an angry crimson firing her features. 
” He has not come back; 1 will not believe it. He is dead, and 1 
shall never see him again. Go away, papa! Don’t speak tome.” 

‘‘ My dear Carry, ’^said a man’s voice at the door, in accents of 
reproachful tenderness. It was Sir Neil. 

Go away!” repeated the girl, her voice choked with anger, and 
turning, she rushed into the dressiug-room where the maid was to 
sleep. 

‘ ‘ Oh, sir, leave her to me ; the news is too much for her. She’s been 
nearly dead, sir, with grief and pain,” said her maid, courtesying to 
the baronet, who was standing in the door-way. ‘‘I’m sure, sir. 
It’s a delight to see you again.” 

The men went down-slairs. thankful tor the affection which is 
stored up in the incomprehensible female breast. 

Caroline lay across her maid’s bed, and shed bitter tears of disap- 
pointment, 

” Oh, it’s too bad, and so it is,” she sobbed, and paroxysm after 
paroxysm of her first real grief shook her little body. 

‘‘ 1 believe she’s in love this time,” said the maid to herself, as she 
later on wrapped the coverlet tightly round her, Caroline having re- 
fused to undress or change her bed. 

Sir Neil’s meeting with his niothei was a new revelation to him 
of her character. 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


168 

She was first told ot his return in a note he sent up to her. She 
had not gone to rest any more than the Frazers. Haunted with the 
idea that they would briny: her son’s body from the shore, she sat 
in her room apparently stolid and unsubdued by grief. 

As she rose to meet him when he came forward there was a ten- 
derness in her glance, a chastened rapture of expression in her dark 
eyes which was new to her. 

“My boy, my boy!” she cried out, forgetting her dignity, her 
worldliness, and her calculation, and she wept freely as she pressed 
her brow to his shoulder. “ Oh, 1 shall find relief now, my dear 
son.” 

It was the brightest part ot the return for him, for though Mr. 
Frazer sat late, and, contrary to his custom, brewed himself several 
tumblers of toddy, and waschatty and happy, he let out some things 
in conversation that were far from consoling to the baronet. It was 
perhaps good to be told that the emigration schemes would probably 
come to something, but it was detestable to have it added that half 
Sandstone were in the caves. It was pleasant to know that the yield 
at the quarries was steadily on the increase, but it vas not so nice 
to hear that threats ot vengeance had been coming in from some of 
the men who had lost their babies by exposure in badly constructed 
sheds. It was an ominous thing that Mr. Frazer knew nothing b}' 
report or otherwise of Bertha St. Clair. Then the wreck of the 
“Petrel” had compensations for Mr. Frazer which the baronet 
could not see. To his certain knowledge, he said, as he ladled the 
last of his toddy from tumbler to glass, the destruction ot the 
steamer would ruin half of the shop-keepers in the square. So much 
the better for his scheme ot having one large distributing store. 

And the drownings? Well, no doubt Captain Jansen was dead 
and gone. But sailors must expect to b^ drow'ned; and, after all, 
lor a sailor, had he not a goodly spell of years? 


CHAPTER XLll. 

BERTHA BACK AGAIN. 

A WEEK after the wreck of the “ Petrel ” John Jansen was laid 
in his grave outside the parish church. Such a funeral had not 
been remembered among the oldest inhabitants. The simplicity ot 
the captain’s life, his sweet temper, his benevolence, and the sad 
misfortune that brought him to the grave had raised the country-side. 
Sir Neil Dutton and Mr. Petersen stood close by each other when 
his coffin was lowered in silence— the impressive silence ot a crowded 
church-yard, and the “ he was a good man” of the minister, whis- 
pered as the clods fell, was all the eulogy, all the service he obtained. 
His death did for Bertha what the baronet on the eve ot his return 
determined to do. Being told by Mr, Petersen that a boy had 
brought a letter from a sheeling up the country from the school- 
mistress, saying that she meant to return and to begin a scliool on 
her own account in the block of houses belonging to Jansen, which 
stood in the middle of the yard made by the capitalist on the fore- 
shore, Sir Neil felt that he could do little more for her. His syni- 


HOULDERSTONE. 


169 


patliy was all on her side— nay, something more; but he had deter- 
mined to subdue the strong desire he had to see her, because his 
duty, as he conceived it, was so plainly to stand by his engagement 
to Caroline. 

On the Sunday after Jansen’s funeral he had been to the parish 
church, and had" seen Bertha in her pew. with the flush of such love- 
liness in her face that he could with difficulty keep from staling at 
her. Mr. Petersen was evolving a doctrine of immortality from the 
principle of the conservation of forces, and his audience was as sleepy 
as it usually w'as when he vaulted into the unintelligible. His dis- 
course would have done in a professorial room; it was “caviare” 
to most of his hearers in Boulderstone; and it was onl}’’ when he 
lifted his manuscript, put it into his coat-pocket, and with many 
“ hems ” and “ hahs ” fronted his congregation and spoke of Captain 
Jansen in the fullness of his heart, that heads were raised from 
elbow's and drowsy eyes began to sparkle. It was while Mr. Peter- 
sen spoke that Sir Neil, looking toward Bertha, determined that it 
was positive cowardice on his part not to see and talk to her. She 
was independent of his help; so much the better reason for congratu- 
lating her. 

When he stepped out there were the usual Sunday groups standing 
round and talking in low voices. They hardly recognized him, 
though at his first arrival, and when great expectations were formed 
of him, he had been recognized by every one in turn at the church 
door. To such a state of incivility had the policy of the capitalist 
reduced his friends and tenants. 

Bertha was walking by herself in a deserted corner of the grave- 
yard. He must speak to her. Yes, in the face of Boulderstone, he 
must cross over to congratulate the girl on the change of circum- 
stances which had recently come to her. 

She was dressed in mourning; and standing as she was with her 
face half turned to the sea, he read the same wistful expression that 
had first struck him at the ferry. He was conscious of a throbbing 
heart as he moved among the crowded head-stones and approached 
her. He knew what this girl had come through; and there, in the 
face of the neighbors who had maligned her, she took her place so 
siveetly, tranquilly, and strongly. 

“ How much has happened since that morning!” he said, holding 
out his hand to her. 

“ Would it not have been better. Sir Neil, not to open up the past 
again?’’ 

“Perhaps. But 1 had to tell you that 1 w'as called aw' ay sud- 
denly, and that nothing has been done as I ordered.” 

Bertha was looking"" out toward the bar; the dismantled hull of 
the steamer was still the center of breaking waves, though the bay 
was smooth and blue. “ He does not remember,” she thought, “ the 
death of my friend. He still thinks of his own troubles.” 

“ Mr. Petersen has told me that you are now independent. Poor 
Captain Jansen! he could have done nothing better than leave yon 
his fortune. You will find so much to do with it, and you will use 
it so well, if 1 may. say so.” 

“ 1 have been following the election at Westlands,” said Bertha, 
after a pause, in which they were rather painfully aware that every 


BOULDERSTOXE. 


170 

eye in the windows of; the foreshore and among the groups of the 
congregation was turned toward them. 

“ Oh yes, and 1 have been well beaten at Westlands; but 1 hope 
I shall survive all the hard hitting.” 

” That part of your speeches where you lalk of the rising sense of 
power in the masses interested me so much; and where you spoke 
of the inequality of human lots, and the gathering of wealth into a 
few hands, and ol the duty of reformers to do what they can to slop 
the tendency and give fair chances. to all.” 

” It was rather unpopular at Westlands. They called it com- 
munism. It cost me a number of votes; but 1 am very glad 1 
said it, if it has your approval.” 

” But they were only words,” said Bertha, halt reproachfully; 
” could you not apply them to these?” and she pointed to the dis- 
mal huts of the foreshore. She was tor a moment almost stern in 
the glance she gave him. ” You who know — why should you stand 
by while others do what you detest? You have heard of Sandstone. 
Half of Sandstone is in" the caves, and their old, old homes are 
broken up. The other half will be there soon, if it is all true that 
they expect. Sir Neil, you can not, 1 know, help the persecution 
which has begun, but you can denounce it.” 

” Y^ou make light of my difficulties,” said Sir Neil, uncomfort- 
ably. ” 1 have told you that Mr. Frazer is the proprietor, and that 
1 am a mere spectator in a home which is not my own.” 

” We can not say more, then. But be warned. Sir Neil, in time. 
That rising sense of power you talk of in your speeches is wakening 
ai your door, and who can say what may not happen? Look at 
your tenants; they do not acknowledge your presence among them, 
because not one of them knows when he may be asked to take him- 
self oft to the other side of the world. And there, on the foreshore, 
my friends that 1 have known and loved for years are talking bit- 
terly against you. And it is this overturning or all they have been 
used to by a man bent on gathering wealth, and caring nothing for 
the distress he spreads on the way. 1 begin to fear that you may be 
made the victim.” 

” And what do you propose to do?” he asked, turning aside her 
%varnings by a query. 

” For me, everything has been arranged. 1 have opened my 
school, and all my pupils have come back to me. 1 have inherited 
all Captain Jansen’s means, and 1 shall have to spend them for the 
lasting good of these—” again pointing to the foreshore, as if the 
people were her childien. ” 1 was very foolish for a little, and 
thought 1 would give it all up. 1 rushed to the moors and believed 
1 was done with it; but no, the breath of them revived me, and 
again I see my way. But, dear sir,” she continued, looking at him 
piteously, ” why is it that the work he has left me to do,” pointing 
to the grave of Captain Jansen, ‘‘ must be in antagonism to you? 
Dearly should 1 love to help the people with the guidance you could 
give; for 1 am weak, and feel my weakness, and your words at 
Westlands tell me that you are strong, and that you know how they 
should be guided to a better destiny.” 

” I can stay the reforms, so called, on the estates; 1 will stay 
them. Believe me, they have been sprung upon me; and 1 foresaw 


BOULDERSTOisE. 


171 

notliiag of what has occurred under Frazer’s mauagement. To 
make the people tree and prosperous where they are, instead of 
driving them to the doubtful freedom and prosperity of a new clime 
—that, 1 assure you, has been my aim, and it has been thwarted by 
circumstances and the strong wdll of a man who, in the South, has 
only one reputation— friend of the people.” Theie was a pause for 
a moment, and in a lowei voice he j sked her beseechingly, “ Bertha, 
may 1 not call on you again?” 

‘*2^0, our w^ays lie apart. In my distress 1 appealed to you, and 
you were kind — oh, more than kind. But there must be an end 
to it all. Here only are we safe.” 

” 1 have still much to say to you.” 

“ It must not be.” 

” But you tell me that 1 can advise you. Is it so?” 

” Advise me by letter. And first think of what 1 have said to 
you. The people are rising; they will throw- off by some desperate 
act the new tyranny w-hicli is depriving them of their homes. But 
Mr. Petersen is coming to us.” And the minister advancing toward 
them, the conversation took a new turn. 


CHAPTER XLlll. 

HEAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 

Once a year, just before the harvest commenced, the town of 
Boulderstone drew to itself the active population of the side of the 
country on w’hich it lay. 

It was the market-day-in-chief for Ihe year, and the square from 
morniug till night was thronged with farm-servants and farmers, 
who surged and eddied in ceaseless circles round the booths and 
stalls which had been erected for their convenience and delectation. 
If you had been on the highway leading from the inland farms and 
hamlets at earliest dawn of the day, you would have seen robust 
women, witn gaudy petticoats tucked up to their knees, tramping 
on bare, red feet, their shoes dangling from their arms. 

Sometimes there were companies of them, and as they walked they 
chattered freely, played pranks one on another, and turned up their 
faces to the passing gig or cart to exchange a coarse joke with the 
genial male w-ho might be driving. To-day they were to stand in 
the market-place until they w-ere accosted; they were then to hire 
themselves out for the next term to the farmers and ” grieves ” 
who engaged them. 

They were naturally in a high state of excitement. In their lives 
the feeing market took rank with such incidents as births, deaths, 
or marriages. On the roads, too, there were companies of well- 
dressed males, plowmen mostly, in black cloth jackets and well- 
scoured moleskin breeches, bound on the same mission as the wo- 
men. 

The farmers and crofters for the most part drove, and arrived 
later in the day. Everybody, however, was there. 

The square on each side was lined with stalls. There were few 
things K'hich the rustic imaginations had conceived in the way of 


BOULDERSTONE. 


17 *^ 

hardwaie, confectionery, or jewelry which the stalls could not dis- 
pense at a price suited to the condition of their purses. ^ Confec- 
tionery, however, impressed the eye most of all. It w'as piled up in 
solid pyramids, which, as the day went by, disappeared, scoopful 
after scoopful, down the unfathomable pockets of the women. Sugar, 
in all the various molds and colors it can assume, was the great 
marketable commodity of the day. “ Penny an ounce! penny an 
ounce! hi— i — i— i, hi — i — i — i, penny an ounce!” shouted huckster 
after huckster, scoop in the air, as the round, rosy faces and stalwart 
bodies elbowed their way among the stalls, breathing a general at- 
-Miospheie of peppermint, toffy, and cloves as they went. 

” The queen’s spurs. Her royal ’ighness’s spurs, as worn by her 
•at the marriage of her eldest son.” 

So said a small, withered man, with a prominent nose, from 
among a heap of unsalable folios and old garments forming the least 
attractive stall in the square. It was old Moses Jacob, known in 
the market tor many years, who had always been selling “the 
queen’s spurs ” in a shaky voice, but who had never been under- 
stood to find a purchaser. 

“ Them’s the little canaries as sings to the tune of twenty shil- 
lings,” said a keen, razor faced man in brassy tones, shaking' a bag 
of sovereigns from a platform, and pouring out the golden stream 
intoTiis hand, while a throng of plowmen watched him with open 
mouths. 

“ Them’s the little canaries, and I gives ’em away, for I’m a bit 
of a philanthropist, 1 am. I gives ’em away, 1 gives ’em away.” 

The philanthropist then seized a watch, offered it for a pound, 
and the bargain nol being to the mind of any of the spectators, 
filled it with sovereigns, shut it, and again offered. And watch 
after watch was handed down and paid for, the dupes being too 
much ashamed to tell their neighbors that they had been “ done.” 

“ Walk up, gentlemen and ladies, walk up!” yelled a painted 
harlequin from the wooden steps of a caravan and tent, amid the 
deafening beat of cymbals and drums; “ the performance is now 
going on, and includes, among many rare natural phenomenons, the 
man who can walk on a rope upside down; the tender mother who 
has given birth to triplets, and feeds ’em all at once; the singing 
boa-constrictor, and the pony which laughs. Hi— i — i — i. Walk 
up, ladies and gentlemen.” 

A little further along two rifles with brass barrels went on crack- 
ing throughout the day, while the huckster who owned the shoot- 
ing-saloon roared the invitation, “ Hi — i — i— i, nuts for your money, 
and sport for nothing. Hi — i — i — i.” 

Early in the day, and throughout the afternoon, there was the 
utmost good-humor. The crowd was still at the confectionery stage 
of the proceedings. They were making their engagements with the 
fanners, and until they were completed it was deemed high enough 
festival to munch lozenges and chew gingerbread. 

After the engagements there came whisky and strong ale, the 
crowning enjoyment of the day to men and women wbo for the rest 
of the year were fed without alcohol. 

But to day some of the men had begun drinking early. It was 
noticeable that much sooner than usual there w'ere lads with tangled 


BOULDERSTONE. 


173 


heads and disheveled shirt-fronts, with red eyes and staggering 
gait, knocking- from corner to corner in the streaming, surging 
market place. And at an hour when “ Cheap Jack ” was usually 
doing a brisk trade he had to bundle up his remaining watches, l3ap 
into a dog-cart, and escape across the country from the vengeance 
ot his dupes. At last the crowd seemed to be diverted Irom the 
hundred different objects in the windows, booths, and stalls by the 
appearance ot a great green cloth, with gilt letters in the center, 
which was being hung from the Town Hall at the end of the square. 

“ Prosperity,’^ “ Contentment,” “Honor,” “Old Age,” were 
glittering in the corners; “ Emigration ” was emblazoned in large 
type in the middle. 

As the cloth was let down from the windows a rush was made to- 
ward the hall, and in a few moments a dense multitude was staring 
at the announcement with blank, inexpressive faces. At the same 
moment showers ot hand-bills, with “ Brisbane, Brisbane, Bris- 
bane,” appealing to the eye in large letters, fell among the crowd, 
while were handed round invitations to the lecture which was to be 
delivered within the hall that evening on the subject of Australian 
emigration. 

The interest attaching to the advertisement soon exhausted itself. 
Being once hung on the walls, it took no other shape to itself, and 
the crowd in its collective capacity could make nothing of the 
phrases, “Prosperity,” “Contentment,” “Honor,” arid “Old 
Age.” 

They were still staring at it when a moi:e active interest was ex- 
cited by the number ot missiles it began to attract from one of the 
stalls, from which a tall farmer, more than half drunk, was throw- 
ing gingerbread, soft sweetmeats, and whatever he could lay his 
hands on. 

Roars ot laughter greeted this practical joke. The figure of the 
farmer was well knowp to the crowd, and it was whispered about, 
“ Ormly’s game for onything noo; he’s had his allooance o’ 
drink.” 

Ormly stood head and shoulders over the crowd, which was a tall 
one. Tiie laughter subsided when the soft contents of the stall were 
taken out of his reach. He then got up on the stall itself, and wav- 
ing his arms, began to speak. 

“ Emigration! They ca’ it emigration. Damn them! Dinna be- 
lieve them, lads. We’re putten oot by main force. And here 1 am 
this dav without a fairm tae my back or hoose tae my family; an’ 
hoo mony o’ ye lads are stannin’ there withoot engagements? An’ 
why? Because the lea.ses are fa’in in, an’ it’ll no pay tae enpge ye 
tor the new proprietor— no’ Sir Neil; I’ll no blame the laddie; he’s 
his faither’s son: but the ither fallow frae the Sooth, a merchant 
oot o’ a toon, wi’ nae idea o’ fairmin’ at a’— the new proprietor 
wants to lump the land in his ain hauns.” 

At that moment the stall rocked beneath the huge farmer, and he 
was dragged down by “Lang Geordie,”*a policeman as tall as 
himself. Ormly only disappeared for a moment— the next he was 
struggling with his opponent, the center of a surging group of men 
similarly aggrieved, and only too anxious to find a victim. “ Lang 
Geordie ” went out of sight among their feet, kicked silent beneath 


BOULDEHSTOXE. 


174 

the stall, and Ormly, his broad shoulders and flaxen hair looming 
above the mob, fought his way toward the jail. 

“ To the jile, lads, to the jile!” was the cry raised; and behind 
Ormly there was a crushing aside ot the peaceably inclined, who 
wanted to lake no hand in a riot, and a filling in of the turbulent, 
who were much in the mood for breaking heads. 

The jail was not a very formidable institution, and under the 
leadership of Ormly the mob had not far to go. 

One corner of the “ jile ” overlooked the square; the lowest of its 
well-barred windows could be reached from the pavement behind 
the show, where the harlequin was still crying between the beating 
of the cymbals and the drum, “ Hi — i— i — i, walk up, ladies' and 
gentlemen." 

“Cornin’! cornin’!" shouted Ormly, brandishing the pole of a 
stall on wliich he had laid hands, and the market cleared before him 
as he advanced, all the younger men in the square rushing up to 
back him. 

But the officials inside the jail were wary; the great door was 
shut and double-barred from within before Ormly, pole in hand, 
had led the rioteis up to it. 

The farmer belabored the door with his pole, but without result. 

Ormly turned to the square, where a sea of faces was watching 
him, and exclaiming, “ There’s Magnus in’t, an’ there’s Sandstone 
lads in’t; an’ it we dinna free them wi’ oor ain hands they’ll rot 
in’t for a’ the justice they’ll get. Oot o’ my rodd,” he continued, 
looking from the prison door to the squaie, and striding forward to 
a huge wagon, wffiich had carried the tent and household gods ot a 
performing company. “ A hand, lads!" and applying his back to 
the wagon, he pushed it into the square. 

Harlequin looked down from his platform, and for the moment 
lost his sense ot humor— he owned the wagon. Dropping h^s ap- 
peal to the public to “walk up," he came •down and abused the 
farmer. 

Ormly put his thumb and forefinger inside the belt of spangles 
which encircled him; he performed an involuntary somersault back 
to his platform, which elicited more laughter than any thing he had 
done during the day. 

“ Clear the way, noo,” shouted the farmer; “ twa three dizzen 
o’ ye! put your strength to this." And drawing the wagon back 
into the square, a hundred hands pushed the big machine. It 
moved, it ran, it rushed, and with a crack like thunder it was driv- 
en against the jail door. 

In another moment the high shoulders and flaxen hair of Ormly 
were leading into the cells; a few minutes later the Sandstone pilot 
was passed slioulder-high across the crowd. 

From the door of a neighboring tavern a great tankard of foam- 
ing ale was handed to Ormly, and draining it out, he again ad- 
dressed the crowd, 

“ Masnus’s free, but whaur’s the man that jiled him? Brock o’ 
the_ Keep’s i’ the toon, an’ he maun answer for his conduct. We’ll 
sit in joodgment on him an’ his frieii’ the Sooth-country merchant. 
Awa’, lads, an’ fin’ Brock!" 


BOULDERSTOITE. 175 

“ He’s at Swanson’s inn!'’ shouted several voices: “ we seen him 
there half an hour a.o-o, drinkin’ at the window.” 

And Ormly leading, again the angry mass headed toward the 
h(»tel. while thin streams of boys made oft by lanes and across gar- 
den wails to be at the hotel in good time for the sport. 

All along the route timid shopkeepers put up their shutters and 
barred their doors; the lown Hall was entered by a crowd of 
yokels, who stood at the open windows throwing out the evergreens 
and decorations, the cake and fruit, and lastly the crockery and 
plates which had been collected for the evening’s entertainment. 
The green cloth, with ” Emigration ” in the center, was torn down 
by a host of eager hands. 

But the yelling crowd had come a little too late for the Laird of 
Lobster Keep. He had left the hotel. He had been seen riding to 
Boulderstone Castle. 

” To the castle! to the castle!'’ was the next cry; and still led by 
the tall farmer, the irregular host, numbering several hundred, 
and brandishing shepherds’ crooks, canes, whips, and barrel staves, 
clattered over the hard road. 

Down to the river, across the bridge, round by the meadows, 
which the river covered at high tide, they rushed helter-skelter, 
rending the air with their shouts and the iron clatter of their 
hard heels. 

The park wall was low toward the high-road; Ormly vaulted 
across it, and a score of men leaped beiiiiivl him; while the re- 
mainder, on their hands and knees, tumbled after them. 

The sheep which were nibbling the grass of the park were scat- 
tered before them like white clouds before a high wind. Long be- 
fore they approached the castle, figures had been moving in and out, 
and as they broke upon the drive in front of the house their hoarse 
voices, caught in the echoes of the turreted roof, rang back on them 
and redoubled the angry roar 

Ormly, still grasping the pole of the stall, which had been again 
put into his hands after Magnus’s release, was leading toward the 
-door when the tall slender figure of Sir Neil appeared on the steps. 
He had no hat on his head. He was pale, but in his dark eyes and 
closed lips there was no look of hesitation, only of firmness, dashed 
by a little indignation. 

For the first time since the fever of riot had kindled in their veins 
the mass was confronted with an object which arrested its attention 
and made it pause. 

As the baronet came down another step and cast his eyes over 
them they closed up, and with their red faces, steaming heads, and 
open mouths, fell suddenly silent before him. Even Ormly, with 
his seven feet of stalwart flesh, began to finger his pole uneasily, as 
if. this was not what he had come out to do "battle with. 

” To-morrow you will be sorry for this, my friends, ’’said Sir Neil, 
quietly, but in a persuasive, sad tone, which reached the outer- 
most men of the crowd. ‘‘ You have broken into my grounds 
rudely, pursuing a single man. One, two, perhaps three hundred 
of you pursuing a single man.” 

” Dinna be feared, sir; it’s no’ 5'ou. It’s Brock o’ the Keep we 
want,” said Ormly, a little sheepishly. 


BOULDERSTOKE. 


176 


“Fear! Who talks of fear? 1 have no fear. But 1 have cause 
to be angry with you, and 1 am angry. .You— the men of the North 
Country, who understand fair-play, hunt a single man until he 
has 1o take refuge in my house. And to the insult of it you add the 
injury of coming to a house where there are women, with your 
poles and staves and shouts of vengeance.” 

“ Ca’ canny, sir,” responded the big leader. “ We’re no’ here 
for nothin’. Come forward, Magnus. D’ye see that man? He’s- 
been driven to the jile, and his wife’s in childbed amang Ihe caves. 
An’ what for? For a whimsy o’ Brock’s. An’ look at me. 1 
kent your faither, an’ my iaither held frae your grandfaither, an’ 
noo 1 have nae hoose abune my head nor fairm tae my back. An*^ 
what for? A whimsy o’ Frazer’s!” 

“ Oot wi’ Brock! oot wi’ Brock!” shouted several voices. 

“He shall not be sent out,” said Sir Neil, in the same quiet, 
firm voice; “ and any man who attempts to enter this door to bring 
him out shall walk over my body.” 

Ormly lowered his pole, and cracking it across his knee, advanced, 
cap in hand, to the young man. 

“ Odds, sir, it’s a’ my doin’. An’ ye hev the stuff o’ yer forbears 
in ye; an’ ye maunna blame the boys. But we’re just clean gyte 
wi’ thae improvements, and the threetenin’s an’ the emigration.” 

“ 1 know it,” answered Sir Neil, shaking hands with the chief 
rioter. “ My friends, follow me in this direction, and you shall tell 
me your grievances, and I shall tell you what 1 think may be done 
for them.” 

And the mob, headed by Ormly and Sir Neil, walked toward the 
home farm. 


CHAPTER XLIV, 


REAPING THE WniRLWHND. 


Mr. Frazer had seen the full lage of the market-place from a 
small room in the Town Hall, where, unknown to the men who in- 
vaded the platform and destroyed the crockery, he had at an early 
stage of the proceedings taken refuge, not without considerable 
alarm. 

Finding the storm go past, after a time he thought he might safely 

g o out by a back door, reach the river-mouth, and hail his yacht. 

•n board it he would be safe, or if safety were not in the question 
he would at least be on the way to the castle. 

But while he was slowly making up his mind to this course an 
event of some importance was occurring at the castle. 

Brock’s arrival there was soon follow^ed by messengers from Swan- 
son’s inn to say that he would be in danger in the castle, for Ormly 
was in drink, and was following him, and could make the mob do 
anything he liked. 


The Laird of Lobster Keep was in an intelligible state of alarm. 
He had heard before he had taken the horse from the hotel that the 
jail had been broken into; and Magnus being liberated, he had a 
wholesome fear of being within arin’s- length of him again. One 
encounter had already told him the force that was contained in it:. 


BOULDEKSTONE. 


m 

he rightly dreaded another. But on his arrival at the castle Sir Neil 
had b^eeu so certain that the rioters would not follow him thither 
that he stood pooh-poohing the event with his scared guest before 
his dining room fire. He had too much faith in his people to be- 
lieve them capable of anything of the sort. It was a premature 
alarm— Brock might depend upon that. 

By the time Ormly was leading the crowd across the park, how- 
ever, it became evident that something must be done. 

“ 1 shall meet them face to face,” he told Brock, ” and argue the 
matter with them. If you like to take your chance of staying in 
the castle you shall have all the protection it can give you.” 

Meanwhile he had warned the servants to keep to the kitchen,, 
and go on with their usual employments without a man oi woman 
ot them stirring. And Caroline he had bidden join his mother un- 
til the riot was at an end. 

After that he went out and met them single-handed, confident of 
his success. 

Brock had seen too much of the people during the day to believe 
that the castle would give him protection. No sooner had Sir Neil 
left than he began pacing the room in an agony of nervous terror. 

Caroline came bacR, closing the door behind her; she shivered a 
little, and going to Brock, put her hand on his shoulder. 

“Now OI never, Hew; you must fly or they’ll kill you. And 
you must take me with you.” 

Her speech seemed to arrest the progress of his anxiety; the love 
he had for her, such as it was, gave him a momentary courage. 

” Fly I What’s the good ot you flying? They won’t touch you 
even if they come inside. It’s me and your father they want”. 

” But, Hew, I’m ready to go to the end of the world with youj 
and it they are to kill you they may as well kill me too.” 

” But if 1 fled you would just be a hiuderance. By God, I think 
I w'ould be safer lo hide in the wine-cellar.” 

” You would get drunk, and make such a noise that they would 
discover you in no time,” said Caroline; ‘‘ and if you are to fly it 
must be now or never,” she added, as the first yells of the rioters 
became audible, ‘‘ This way, Hew,” she cried, leading toward the 
Gothic library. 

And they escaped together from the window, while the roar of 
the voices was penetrating the castle behind them. He put himself 
under her care, and clad as she was, in her light dress, without hat 
or cloak, she hurried him to the river-side. 

” But — where— are — you— going to?” he panted. 

” To the yacht;” and she stopped for a moment at the edge of the 
sea-wall before they crossed the beach. ” You will take me to the 
Orkneys, Hew, right ofl.” 

” Tou’re a clever one!” 

” And we’ll never come back here again. Hew.” 

” And if ever we do come back, it’ll be as Mr. and Mrs. Hew 
Brock, Carry.” 

” You’re the clever one this time.” 

The beach was deserted, but on board the yacht, which lay at an- 
chor in the middle of the stream, tiiere were three or four men look- 
ing over the side idly. 


BOULDERSTOi^E. 


178 

As Brock and Caroline stepped over the bowlders they undei^tood 
that something unusual had happened. Two of them at once came 
ashore in a dingy. 

“ The skipper’s up the toon, sir, an’ halt the crew, an’ it’s lookin’ 
gray-like ower the broo o’ the hill. We’ll hae a stiff win’ thenicht. ” 

This was said in disparagement at the order that they must lift 
their anchor and run. But they pushed oft, nevertheless, and five 
minutes later the yacht was dropping down the stream, short- 
handed, without a captain, and with two fugitives on the way to 
the nearest sheriff, who would unite them by an irregular marriage. 

It was not yet dark when Mr. Frazer, who had made a long cir- 
cuit to get to the river- mouth unobserved, stood below the Brae- 
head, and descried the jib and main-sail of the yacht swelling out at 
the bar. 

He stood for a long time looking after the little vessel, uneasy in 
his mind. Then he heard a noise of voices at the castle. Was the 
yacht then carrying the family out for safety? He eyed the turrets, 
half expecting to see a column of smoke and a red tongue of flame 
shooting up from them. But no, they had not fired the castle yet 
at any rate. 

Standing there in the dusk he was more unhappy than he ever 
remembered himself to have been for years. He had not contem- 
plated the idea of an enraged community taking the law in its own 
hand, and rising up in wrath to repudiate him and his schemes. 
As he stood, cut off from the castle, unable to pass through the 
town, with a feeling that escaped criminals might be lurking in the 
neighborhood, all the importance oozed out of him. He did not even 
remotely think of the hundred and one undertakings and the bank 
er’s account, which elsewhere, and in other circumstances, made 
him so notable a figure. He was more humble at the moment than 
he ever, by an effort of will, could make himself, with a Bible in 
his hand and the whites of his eyes turned toward heaven, during 
his devotions of the morning and evening. 

Presently some voices approached. It was only one or two fisher- 
men taking their last seat for the evening; but he did not know 
that it might not be somebody in pursuit of himself. Unconsciously 
he bent himself to the earth, and skirted the silent side of the Brae- 
head as fast as his legs could carry him in that humble attitude. 

Round by the Whale’s Head fie passed as quickly as he could 
move; he would make for his friend, the Free Church minister’s, 
he said to himself, remembering that his house fronted the river, 
but might be reached by a nearer lane. 

As he sped round the walls of the little inn an access of nervous- 
ness came upon hini; the invisible enemy he was hurrying from 
seemed to be at his back. Hurrying across the yard, for the build- 
ing of which he had pulled down so many houses, he reached the 
lane without being observed. 

Without halt or pause he stepped out toward his friend’s house, 
when, of a sudden, a great shouting arose in a neighboring lane. 
The dread of danger was so strong upon him that his knees 
trembled, and he felt as if an hour of violence, which must end in 
death, were coming upon him. He had advanced far up the lane; 
there were drunken rioters ahead of him. 


BOULDERSTONE. 


179 


For one momeni be thought he ^^as entrapped, and that troni two 
points they were making upon him. ile looked up and down the 
lane; they were certainly closing in on each side. In desperation 
he pushed a door open and found himself within Captain Jansen’s 
garden, where he had been once before. Bertha St. Clair w’as at 
the porch. 

“Come in,” she said to him, gsavely. “These are troubled 
times, but you are safe here.” 


CHAPTER XLV. 

THE NEW LIFE. 

Xext day Mr. Frazer, bidding the baronet a brief farewell, and 
carrying with him a little penciled note from Caroline, which told 
him she would return to him as the wife of Mr. Hew Brock, drove 
across the country never to go back again. He felt after that climax 
to his negotiations that the sooner he was done with his great Boulder- 
stone experiment the better for him and his future. A day or two 
later he knew that Caroline would never return to him; the yacht 
had been broken on the Sandstone rocks the very night it had 
crossed the bar of the river. It was explained to him that on the 
fated night a drunken light-house man had forgotten to keep his 
lamp in order. One seaman, who climbed up'' the face of the 
cliffs, was the sole survivor of the wreck. 

* * * * * * 

After the riot. Lady Dutton asked to be taken back to the 
Riviera. It was a bitter disappointment to her that the cherished 
plans of a year, for which she had undergone so much incon- 
venience, should so miserably break down. 

Caroline, poor child, was deceitful, she told her son, and might 
have been troublesome in after-life; but it was quite too shocking 
an end, even for one who broke her engagement and eloped with a 
man who had so little taste and refinement as the late Mr. Hew 
Brock. It was consoling, however, to know that no new embarrass- 
ments were likely to accrue; for though Mr. Frazer’s connection 
with me estate was severed, and his mortgages transferred to the 
hands of a banking corporation, no exceptional pressure was to be 
brought to bear upon her son. She was, indeed, enabled to support 
a menage in the Riviera suited to her position and taste. Once 
established (here, she had no more desire, she said, to return to Lon 
don for the season, or to Edinburgh for the exercise of her patron- 
age. The Riviera, Switzerland, and the option of falling back 
upon Paris when she chose, would stand, she believed, between her 
and ennui for the remainder of her days. 

******* 

The riot passed over Boulderstone like a storm. Like a storm’ 
which brings death in its wake, it solemnized the community and 
intensified the stillness of the town life. 

But after “ the gentry ” left the castle there was an end to the 


180 BOULDERSTONE. 

suppressed excitement which had been gathering for so many 
months. 

C>ne by one the tall posters which pointed the way to the an-, 
tipodes were taken down from the gables and walls. On the cliffs, 
«lose to Sandstone, the pilots went back to their houses, having 
thatched them anew, so that the seals and otters had the run of the 
caves once more. • 

“Roups,” which had freely been announced among the farm 
steadings, were postponed and stopped altogether; and the Town 
Council at one of its meetings discussed at great length the project 
of a railway, which, while it promised to bring employment to 
hundreds, would not have a disturbing effect upon leases. 

There tvere many who could not conceive Boulderstone as capa- 
ble of invasion by the steam-horse. 

The “Buckie,” with new and special information about the gap 
on the other side of the county, decried the scheme in fine allitera- 
tive prose, declaring that its readers were content to remain “ the 
proud and peculiar people of the Korth.” 

The removal of Mr. Frazer from the scene might not inaptly be 
compared to the withdrawal of a stranger from the neighborhood 
of an ant’s nest, into which he had curiously and laboriously been 
thrusting his stick. 

******* 

Sir Neal Dutton called upon Bertha St. Clair after he had taken 
his mother to Italy. The last view he had of Bertha before going 
away was from the foreshore. She was laying flowers upon the 
grave of her benefactor, and the baronet did not at the moment feel 
entitled to disturb her. 

He was in Italy longer than he anticipated; but it brought him 
no peace of mind. Inconsolable he wandered among the citron 
hedges and the palm groves of Bordighera. What was the golden 
light of that shore to him compared to the fall of the breakers from 
the North Sea behind the windows of Boulderstone? Bitter as had 
been many of his experiences in the home of his fathers; tragic as 
had been the end of his connection with the Frazers, there were 
other memories of a sweeter sort which linked him to the castle, 
and one day, late in the year, they drew him back to Boulderstone. 

His first visit was made to IBertha. She was still in the house Cap- 
tain Jansen had left her, and the town paid her the respect which 
was due to an injured heiress. 

She was feeding the bees at the moment Jean Scott, courtesying 
gravely, let Sir Neil Dutton into the garden. 

Oscar and Fidget were anxiously regarding her from a little dis- 
tance, as she stooped to insert the trays of syrup which, in the ab- 
scene of sunshine and flowers, kept the bees alive. 

Sir Neil went down the crisp, frosted walk, and, leaning on the bee- 
house, shook off a shower of icicles, which fell like diamond spray 
jound the figure of Bertha. 

Then he talked to her of the riot and the change it had made; 
how he had promised his tenants to rescind all that had been done 
hurtful to their interests by Mr. Frazer, and how he meant to stay 
among his people until prosperity had come back. But he would 


BOULDERSTONE. 


181 

aeed help. No — her property could not help him very much. But 
did she remember what he had said to her one eventful morning 
when the dawn saw them stepping from the castle to the river? 

She could never, of course, forget that. 

Did she believe that it was all much more true at that moment 
than it was on the eventful morning? 

She believed it. 

And could she accept poverty among these gray turrets that were 
i visible from the bee-house — temporary poverty, it was to be hoped 
i — while they wrought together to help the foreshore to larger pros- 
perity and the hamlets to anew peace, and themselves to a happier, 
and, with Heaven’s heli), perhaps to a better life? 

She had done feeding the bees, and it was all said so quietly that 
not the keenest neighbors could have told they were saying any- 
thing more than “ How do you do?’' 

Just at the moment Bertha could not find words to answer him. 

But the Rev. Mr. Petersen not very long after, when she was be- 
neath the bridal veil, exacted an answer which was quite satisfac- 
toiy to Sir Neil Dutton, tor she was married from the cottage the 
■captain had left her, and the honeymoon was spent in the country 
somewhefe. 

The first Sunday when the new Lady Dutton stepped from her 
carriage at the gate of the parish church, and the crowd of tenants 
and townsfolk parted on either side to make way for her and her 
husband, there was such a smiling and courtesying as had never been 
remembered there before. And the minister, taking his text from 
the song of Solomon, pelted them with a theological bouquet which 
compelled Bertha to keep her eyelids down all through the sermon. 
But Sir Neil looked him straight in the face, just as if he had been 
practicing tor a christening, as the grave-digger said to Sandy Harold 
afterward; and Sandy, with less regret in his lone than might have 
been supposed, observed that “ the aik that was to box the baronet 
and his Jeddy wasna cut yet.** 


THE END. 


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1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 


MISS M. E. BRAlDDON'S WORKS. 


26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 2C 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRAIiY. — Ordinary Edition. 


481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot .* 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

639 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners .* 20 

656 Oeor^ Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bouid to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon '. 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage. 10 

837 J ust as I Am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf a . . . . 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

'396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor .... 10 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY,— Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wuthering Heights 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10' 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

1019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or. The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated). ; 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine; or. Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10. The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 Tfie Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen • 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


551 The Yellow Mask 10 

583 Fallen Leaves 20 

654 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

1856 “I Say No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WOIjlKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie T 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afioat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Vignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times 10 


TEE SEASIDE LlBBABT.—Ordina/ry Edition. 


118 Great Expectations 20' 

187 David Copperfield 20 

200 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Budge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) .... 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody’s Luggage. . ; 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction.. 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 40 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz . . . .T 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OP *‘DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn 10* 

678 A Dead Heart 10 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. W 

746 Which Loved Him Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 20 - 

921 At War with Herself 10 - 


TJSE SEASIDE LiBRART . — (jraina/ry Edlcion. 


9S1 The Sin of a Lifetime 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream 

1018 Wife in Name Only 

1044 Like Ko Other Love 

1060 A Woman’s War 

1072 Hilary’s Foily .o ..... . 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women 

1077 A Glided Sin 

1081 A Bridge of Love.. 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 

1099 Wedded and Parted 

1107 A Bride From the bea. 

1110 A Rose in Thorns 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin. 

1122 Redeemed by Love 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring. ......... 

1127 Love’s Warfare 

1132 Repented at Leisure , < 

1179 Prom Gloom to Sunlight 

1209 Hilda 

1218 A Golden Heart 

1266 Ingledew House 

1288 A Broken Wedding-King 

1305 Love For a Day; or. Under the Lilacs. . . 

1357 The Wife’s Secret 

1393 Two Kisses 

1460 Between Two Sins 

1640 The Cost of Her Love 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 

1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms,.., 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Ame 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 




10 

20 

10 

10 

..... 10 

10 

,c... 10 

.... 16 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 20 

.... 20 

.... 20 

.... 20 

.... 20 

.... 10 

.... 20 

o... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 10 

.... 20 

.... 20 

. . 20 


10 

20 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 


144 The Twin Lieutenants , . 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy 10 

155 The Count of Monte-Cristo(C^w 2 ^Zef« m One Volume) 20 

160 The Black Tulip 10 

167 The Queen’s Necklace 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRABY.— Ordinary Edition, 


172 The Chevalier de Maison Rouge. . . 20 

184 The Countess de Charny 20 

188 Nanon 10 

193 Joseph Balsamo; or, Memoirs of a Physician 20 

194 The Conspirators 10 

198 Isabel of Bavaria 10 

201 Catherine Blum 10 

223 Beau Tancrede; or, The Marriage Verdict (small type).... 10 

S97 Beau Tancrede; or. The Marriage Verdict (large type) 20 

228 The Regent’s Daughter 10 

244 The Three Guardsmen 20 

268 The Forty-five Guardsmen 20 

276 The Page of the Duke of Savoy 10 

278 Six Years Later; or, Taking the Bastile 20 

283 Twenty Years After 20 

298 Captain Paul 10 

306 Three Strong Men 10 

318 Ingenue 10 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. First half 20 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. Second half 20 

342 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (small type) 10 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. II. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. III. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. IV. (large type) 20 

344 Ascanio 10 

<508 The Watchmaker 20 

•616 The Two Dianas 20 

622 Andree de Taverney 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne(lst Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (2d Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (3d Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (4th Series) 20 

688 Chicot, the Jester 20 

849 Doctor Basilius 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “ The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. 1 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. II 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “ The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. Ill 20 


T H E SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion oX “ The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. IV 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. V 20 

1561 The Corsican Brothers - 10 

1692 Marguerite de Valois. An Historical Romance 20 

F. DU BOISGOBEY’S WORKS. 

709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part 1 20 

709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part II 20 

1062 The Severed Hand (La Main Coupee) 20 

- 1123 The Crime of the Opera House. First half 20 

1123 The Crime of the Opera House. Second half 20 

1142 The Golden Tress 20 

1225 The Mystery of an Omnibus 20 

1241 The Matapan Affair. First half . . 20 

1241 The Matapan Affair. Second half 20 

1307 The Robbery of the Orphans; or, Jean Tourniol’s Inherit- 
ance 20 

1356 The Golden Pig (Le Cochon d’Or). Part 1 20 

1356 The Golden Pig. Part II 20 

1432 His Great Revenge. First half 20 

1432 His Great Revenge. Second half 20 

1465 The Privateersman’s Legacy. First half 20 

1465 The Privateersman’s Legacy. Second half . 20 

' 1481 The Ferry-boat (Le Bac) 20 

1534 Satan’s Coach (L’Equipage du Diable). First half 20 

1534 Satan’s Coach (L’Equipage du Diable). Second half 26^ 

^ 1550 The Ace of Hearts (L’As de Coeur). First half 20 

1550 The Ace of Hearts (L’As de Coeur). Second half ..... . 20 

1602 Marie-Rose; or, The Mystery. First half 20 

- 1602 Marie- Rose; or, The Mystery. Second half 20 

1717 Sealed Lips 20 

1742 The Coral Pin 30 

1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. First half 20 

' 1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. Second half 20 

1799 The Steel Necldace 20 

1800 Bertha’s Secret. First half 20 

" 1800 Bertha’s Secret. Second half 20 

1841 Merindol 20 

1842 The Iron Mask. First half., 20 

0 - 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Ordinary Edition. 


1843 The Iron Mask. Second half 20 

1874 Piedouche, a French Detective 20 

1885 The Sculptor’s Daughter. First half 20 

1885 The Sculptor’s Daughter. Second half 20 

1886 Zenobie Capitaine. First half 20 

1886 Zenobie Capitaine. Second half 20 

1925 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. First half 20 

EMILE GABORIAU’S WORKS. 

408 File No. 113 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. First half 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. Second half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. First half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. Second half 20 

490 Marriage at a Venture 10 

494 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

501 Other People’s Money '20 

509 Within an Inch of His Life 20 

515 The Widow Leroflge 20 

523 The Clique of Gold 20 

071 The Count’s Secret. Part 1 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part II 20 

704 Captain Contanceau; or, The Volunteers of 1792 10 

741 The Downward Path; or, A House Built on Sand (La De- 

gringolade). Part 1 20 

741 The Downward Path; or, A House Built on Sand (La De- 

gringolade). Part II 20 

758 The Little Old Man of the Batignolles 10 

778 The Men of the Bureau 10 

789 Promises of Marriage 10 

813 The 13th Hussars 10 

834 A Thousand Francs Reward 10 

899 Max’s Marriage; or. The Vicomte’s Choice 10 

1184 The Marquise de Brinvilliers 20 

MARY CECIL HAY’S WORKS. 

8 The Arundel Motto 10 

407 The Arundel Motto (in large type).'. 20 

9 Old Myddelton’s Money 10 

427 Old Myddelton’s Money (in large type). 20 

17 Hidden Perils 10 

iM 


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409 Roy’s Wife. G. J. Whyte-Melville. . . 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant. . 10 

411 A Bitter Atonement. By Charlotte 

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412 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Asliore. By J. Fenimore 

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414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to “Afloat 

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415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. Feni- 

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416 Jack Tier; or, The Florida Reef. By 

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417 The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, St. Valen- 

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418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Walter Scott ^ 

419 The Chainbearer; or. Tlie Littlepage 

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422 Precaution. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

423 The Sea- Lions; or. The Lost Sealers. 

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424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The Voyage 

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425 The Oak-Openings; or. The Bee- 

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426 Venus's Doves. By Ida Ashworth 


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